


Lane Boy

by disloyalorderoftrash (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Character Development, College/University AU, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Theatre, sorry Louise is so annoying in this i actually love her, teacher/student au, the first chapter is sin already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/disloyalorderoftrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is a bored law student who hates university. One weekend, he has a one night stand with some stranger in some bar. However, when he returns to university after the break, he meets this stranger again - as his new teacher. They take up a casual affair, but will they be able to keep it secret? Is it really just casual and meaningless? And will Dan finally find the courage to quit university and start following his dreams?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skin On Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to send this fic out into the world as an orphan because i'm very insecure about it and don't want it on my profile anymore, but you should still be able to find my other works [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/disloyalorderoftrash). i hope you enjoy reading!

# Lane Boy

### 1: Skin On Skin

Did I ever think it was a good idea to go alone to the bar today? Well, in that case I have changed my mind. I take a sip of my half empty lukewarm beer and cast a gloomy look around the room.

For a Saturday evening, the place sure isn't very crowded. I now know why, this isn't exactly the most fun bar I've ever seen. There is nothing specific about it that makes it bad, but the entire atmosphere is kind of depressing.  


But maybe I only think so because that's my own mood. If I counted on people and alcohol to make me forget the approaching begin of school, I was wrong. I can't help thinking about it. I have no idea why I decided to attend a university that teaches law. During the last months I discovered that I hate the law with a fervent passion. I wish I was brave enough to drop out of school.  


A girl tries to flirt with me, but my anwers – not exactly impolite, but short and not very friendly – show her that I am not interested at all . Eventually, she gives up and walks away, probably back to her friends and maybe other men that are funnier, more entertaining and more willing than me.  


Someone sits down next to me at the counter. I don't bother to turn my head. I doubt I will meet anyone worth talking to tonight.  


“Why'd you turn that girl down? She was gorgeous”, a deep voice says.  


In surprise I turn around. A men is sitting next to me, maybe five years older than me. He is dressed well but not too well. His black hair – probably dyed – contrasts his pale skin and piercingly blue eyes in a way that fascinates me more than it should.  


“Oh, was she? I don't know”, I say. “Not interested in women.”  


“I see”, he smirks.  


“If you want to talk to her, go for it. I'm not gonna beat you up, that's for sure.”  


“That's not why I asked.”  


“Oh. Okay.” This is confusing me. He is confusing me.  


“My name is Phil.” He offers me his hand. Still confused, I shake it.  


“Dan.”  


“Hello Dan. You're not here very often, are you? Never seen you.”  


“No. In fact I never go to bars at all. But the holidays are ending on Monday, university starts again and uh, I guess I'm just trying to distract myself because I really, really don't want to go back-” Why am I telling a total stranger about my feelings?  


“I'm sorry”, he says with seemingly genuine sympathy. “I'm so glad I finished college a while ago. Have you considered quitting whatever you do and choosing a different subject?”  


“Well, I have, but..”, I begin. He casually reaches out and places a hand on my thigh. I almost jump. The simple touch makes my skin feel electrified and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. I try to ignore it and take a deep breath. “I'm afraid I won't find anything else. And my parents – they're still paying for my education and I don't want them to be disappointed...” The hand is now drawing slow circles on my leg, the sensation going straight to my dick. Fuck, my sexual frustration is really bad. “Also I don't want to seem weak because after all I decided that this is what I wanted and if I change my mind now... does that make sense?”  


“It does. I know exactly what you mean.”  


The silence that follows is tense. I bring my bottle to my lips to drink as his hand is slowly, steadily making its way up my thigh and every single nerve in my body seems to react to the touch. In a sudden motion it jumps directly to my crotch, palming me through my pants.  


I inhale sharply. “Oh, god. Fuck.”  


He immediately removes his hand, looking worried. “I'm sorry. If you didn't want that..”  


“No, no, yes... I mean... god, I don't know”, I laugh, slightly desperate. “It's been a while.”  


“I thought so. You were very.. responsive.” His eyes seems to stare right into my soul.  


“Actually, it felt very good and.. oh god, I don't usually do this”, I tell him.  


“Do what?”  


“You know.”  


“I don't know. Tell me.” Is he ordering?  


“Meet some random stranger at bars and...” I feel my cheeks burning red. “Have sex with strangers. I don't usually do that.”  


“Oh, so that's what we're going to do?” Fuck, his smirk is hot. I blush even harder.  


“I – I don't know. I thought -” I mumble.  


“Well, you're right, that's what I had in mind the minute I saw you”, he whispers close to my ear and his already deep voice seems to drop even lower. The hand reappears on my leg, less cautiously and with more determination this time. I bite back a moan. “Bathroom?”, he offers.  


, it's not like I'm even able to say no at this point. I just nod.  


My beer is left on the table as we make our way through the room towards the mens' toilet. It was disgusting anyway. I don't even waste a thought what the people in the bar might think if they see us going in there together. It's not like i'll meet any of them again.  


The bathroom is empty, thankfully. He pulls me into the nearest cubicle impatiently and closes the door.  


“Two things.”  


“What?”  


“Two things before we start. Firstly, do I have your full consent? And you're not too drunk or drugged to think clearly?”  


“I... yes”, I say, bewildered. “I didn't even drink a whole bottle of beer and yes, you have my full consent.”  


“Just making sure. Not going to risk anything.” He smiles a little bitterly and I wonder if he's been in conflict with the law for that reason before. “Secondly, you should know that. I never exchange phone numbers or surnames or anything after. That's my rule. Is that okay for you?”  


Does he really think i'd say no now? “Yes. I understand.”  


“Great”, he says and finally, finally pulls me closer.  


The kiss is messy and dirty, more tongue and teeth than lips, the kind of kiss you can only share with someone you're going to fuck. I feel hands beneath my shirt, pushing it upwards to touch my naked skin. His lips leave mine. The moment they're on my neck, I fall apart, almost whimpering.  


“Oh, you like that?” I can feel the breath as he speaks. I moan in response. He keeps sucking at the sensitive skin. Tomorrow, I will have more than one hickey, that's for sure. Well. I can worry about hiding them later because right now -  


“Fuck”, I gasp involuntarily as his hands enter my pants and briefly touch my erection. He doesn't stay there, however, instead he moves on to my hole. One finger explores the area slowly and then pushes into me, dry.  


He pauses, frowning at the easy entrance. “Didn't you say it's been a while?”  


“Yes, that was true, I... I stretch myself... please”, I moan helplessly. “Don't stop.”  


“Do you? I'd love to see that.. bet you look beautiful doing that... not as innocent as you look, are you?” There's the second finger, not as gentle as before. My eyes flutter shut.  


“Lube”, he says. Then the fingers are gone, and I wait, shaking, eyes still closed.  


“Do you have..?”  


“In my pocket. Condoms too of course”, he states, like it's normal for a person to carry around those things wherever they go.  


“Of course”, I mutter. “I mean, who doesn't have that in their pocket all the time?”  


“Not all the time, but I had plans when I left the house today.“  


“Oh, did you?” I know it's stupid to feel jealous. It's not like I had thought I was something special. But hearing him say it like that still stings.  


Phil seems to notice. “Of course you're not the first. Or the last.” I can feel the breath on my neck as he whispers, “But you're possibly the prettiest.”  


Sure. I doubt that, but now is not the time for self-deprecating thoughts. “Could you hurry up?”, I demand impatiently.  


“Patience, baby.”  


Two fingers again, covered in the cool, slick substance this time. They enter me roughly, in and out again, fucking me. I can't help moaning again. He crooks his fingers, searching.  


“You make beautiful sounds, do you know that?” His low voice is making me even harder than I am, if possible. “Are you ready now?”  


“God, yes, please..” I notice how whiny I sound, but I can't stop it.  


“What do you want? Say it.”  


“Fuck.. fuck me..” Saying the words out loud makes me blush again.  


He smirks. “Alright.” Our mouths crash again, messy, wet. He presses my back against the cubicle wall. I should be disgusted because this is a goddamn public toilet, but hygiene is the last thing on my mind right now. He pulls down my pants and tries to get them over my shoes.  


“Jesus, this is difficult”, he laughs desperately. “Could you wear less skinny jeans?”  


With my help they land on the floor and I am completely exposed while he is still fully dressed, a large bulge visible at the front of his jeans. I assist in pulling them down just enough so they're out of the way.  


For a second, we stand there, panting heavily, his hard cock trapped between us.  


He takes a condom out of his pocket, ripping it open and putting it on with shaking hands, then he grabs my legs and lifts me up, back still pressed against the wall.  


“You're stronger than you look”, I comment.  


“You're a lightweight.”  


“Hurry up”, I moan. I spread my legs like some desperate virgin, resting one foot on the toilet to make it easier.  


“Stop ordering me around, you bossy bottom.”  


I giggle a little. Then, finally, he is pushing into me, slowly, carefully.  


“Fuck, there's no need to be.... _harder_ “, I demand.  


“Patience.” How is he so insanely composed? My self-control has been lost minutes ago.  


He takes up a slow, steady rhythm, aiming at a slightly different angle with every thrust, and then he hits the spot, making me cry out. He smiles a self-satisfied smile, keeping up the angle and sending an overwhelming flash of pleasure through my body every few seconds. I dig my nails into his still dressed back, desperately needing something to hold onto.  


He kisses my neck again. I throw my head back, moaning loudly. I don't care that the back of it hits the wall hard, I am almost oblivious to the pain. Almost automatically, my hand reaches down between us to touch myself. The rhythm is becoming faster and now he's making low, barely hushed sounds too, _finally_ , dropping his self-control a little.  


The steadily increasing pace is driving me insane. I can feel the tension in my body building up with every thrust and I know I won't be able to hold myself together for much longer if he keeps up this rhythm. “Phil, I – I'm already close”, I moan.  


“It's alright, you can...“, and I fall over the edge, coming longer and harder than usual, grasping at his hair, his wrists, anything, almost doubling over if it wasn't for him holding me. Through the sensation that's making my mind foggy I notice him reaching the climax too, groaning my name and hips thrusting erratically.  


Carefully, he pulls out. For a moment, we just stand there, coming down and shaking, holding onto each other.  


“Wow”, I manage when I'm able to speak again.  


“Indeed”, he agrees. “You're amazing.”  


“Thanks.” For fucks sake, why am I blushing again?  


“No need to blush”, he says. “Your hair. It's all curly.” He reaches out and touches the locks sweat has created on my forehead.  


“Oh, yeah. I always straighten it because I look like a hobbit with natural hair.”  


“I think it's cute”, he smiles, and I muse if casual sex with strangers on toilets usually includes sweet talk afterwards. I wouldn't have assumed it, but what do I know?  


“Oh, fuck, shit, your shirt – I'm so sorry..”  


He looks down, slightly surprised. “Nevermind. Nothing my washing machine can't deal with.” I pick up a piece of toilet paper and try to wipe it off as well as possible.  


“Sorry.”  


“No, really. It's okay. That kind of thing just happens.”  


I take my jeans and boxers that are scattered on the floor. Slowly, I get dressed again. He pulls up his pants too. The textile barrier between us feels weird. After bare skin on skin, it makes sure we're strangers again.  


“So I guess this is goodbye?”, I say hesitantly.  


“Exactly.” But he doesn't look nearly as confident as before. “No phone numbers. No surnames.”  


“Right”, I mutter, staring at the floor uncomfortably.  


“But – hey, look at me.” I obey, meeting his bright blue eyes again. His pupils still look slightly dilated. “Something tells me that this isn't the last time I'm seeing you. We'll meet again. I'm sure.”  


I smile. “Goodbye then.”  


He pulls me in for one last kiss, sweeter and softer than before. “Goodbye.”  


The bar is completely empty when we enter it again, even though we can't have been gone for too long. I'm glad that there will be nobody to watch us because I'm sure it's obvious what we've been doing.  


I leave the bar and enter my car without looking back.

###

“Dan, what's that on your neck?”  


“On my -? Nothing.”  


“Do you have a secret boyfriend or something?”, Louise asks excitedly.  


“No. Definitely not.” My voice clearly shows that I don't want to talk about it.  


“Oh.” She looks disappointed but recovers quickly. “Did you hear about the new teacher? We're going to see him now! Dodie says he's really hot. I'm kind of excited!”  


“Great.” New teacher or not, nothing could change the fact that I'd rather be in any place than university right now. I try to cheer myself up by thinking that I will see PJ in a few hours and we can have lunch together, but not even the thought of my only real friend at this school is a comfort. I still want to disappear.  


“Come on, stop being so moody.” She takes my hand and pulls me to the classroom. “Lesson is about to start.”  


I sigh and follow her into the room to the place where I usually sit. I spend the time staring at the table and being miserable until the bell rings and the new teacher enters.  


“Hello, I'm Mr Lester and I'm your new....”  


I know that voice. Mortified, I look up and stare directly into bright blue eyes. They hold my gaze for a split second. He's obviously just as shocked as I am. The bruise on my neck seems to start burning.  


He was right. We did meet again.


	2. At A Loss

### 2 : At A Loss

“Dan, are you alright?” Louise nudges me, sounding worried. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”  


I force myself to stop staring at the teacher and nod. “Yeah. Just... very tired. I feel like I could fall asleep sitting and with open eyes right now.”  


“Oh, relatable.” She grins. “He really _is_ hot. Those eyes!”  


I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Not really my type.”  


I watch him read out the students' names. When he gets to mine, I flinch and he stutters, “Howell, uh, Daniel”.  


I swallow. “That's me.”  


We make eye contact for a second. He still seems to be in shock. Well. So am I.  


Do you know him?” Why does Louise have to be so goddamn curious?  


“What? No, of course I don't. Why?”  


“Oh, okay. Because it kind of seemed like.... well, nevermind.” She doesn't look entirely convinced though.  


The rest of the lesson I do my best to avoid looking directly at him. Louise is being unusually attentive, listening and asking clever questions. Usually she can't be bothered to do more than lie on her table, half-asleep, or stare at her fingernails like they're the most interesting thing she has ever seen. When she raises her hand for about the fifth time, I conclude she is trying to impress him.  


She can try, I highly doubt she will be successful.  


As soon as the bell rings, I get up, leaving him no chance to try and talk to me. I can't have anyone getting suspicious.

###

Once I'm home, I turn on my oven to make myself a pizza. The only food I had all day was a crappy, way too expensive sandwich from the school cafeteria since I was too lazy to eat in the morning. While I prepare a cup of tea, I text Amy, “Hi, are you up?” I'm pretty sure it's already close to noon in New York but it's better to make sure before I wake her up by calling.  


She immediately responds. “Yes, everything ok?”  


“I need advice. Can I call you?”, I type.  


I don't wait for the answer and dial her number. She picks up after the first ring. “What's up?”  


“Hi. I have a problem. So Saturday I met this guy in a bar -”, I begin to explain my situation.  


“A bar? _You_?”, she interrupts me sceptically.  


“Yeah, I kind of felt like going out... I know, I know. Doesn't happen often. Anyway. I met a guy and he was really attractive and all and we ended up having sex in the toilet...”  


“The toilet? Ugh. That's not very clean, you know”, she says, disgusted.  


“I know. It just didn't really matter in that moment", I answer.  


“But what's your problem now? Are you pregnant?”  


“Ha ha. Very funny. No, I -”  


“Please don't say you got an STD.”  


“I'm not stupid, I use protection.” Though honestly, if he hadn't had a condom I probably wouldn't even have cared in the heat of the moment, but I don't tell her that. “Now please stop interrupting me.”  


“Sorry.” She sighs.  


“University started again today, we have a new teacher and..”  


“Oh my god. It's him, isn't it? The guy from the bar?”  


“How do you...?”, I ask, bewildered. Girls are weird, I decide. “Yes, it's him. And I don't know what to do.”  


“Why? What's the problem about that?” She clearly doesn't seem to get it.  


“Amy. We fucked. I can't look him in the eyes like any other person and I definitely can't have him _teach_ me. This guy has made out with me in a dirty public toilet, fuck, he had his dick in my ass and knows what I look and sound like when I come. He's seen me in the most intimate setting possible. He can't be my _teacher_.”  


One of the reasons why she is my best friend is that I can talk to her about sex without getting an awkward reaction. She is never disgusted like many other girls or like straight guys who feel like their heterosexuality and masculinity is being threatened when I describe fucking another guy.  


“Oh, you're right. I know what you mean“, Amy says. After a moment of thinking, she asks, “Can't you switch to a different class or anything?”  


“No, he's the only one who teaches the subject at the moment because our old teacher left because she's pregnant and I have to attend that class to fulfill my curriculum.”  


“Drop out”, she suggests.  


“Funny.”  


“Or just have a hot teacher - student romance. I always wanted that when I was in school, to be honest. Never found an attractive and willing teacher though.”  


That may work in novels and movies, but reality is different, unfortunately. “I'm definitely not doing that. It's illegal, he'll lose his job if someone finds out and I'll be expelled.” I sigh. “Besides, romance? It was a one night stand. No... feelings or anything.”  


“More like a one toilet stand”, she giggles. “Really, I never thought you'd be the type for toilet sex. It's _so_ unhygienic.”  


“I'm actually not the type”, I agree. “He sort of... teased me and I guess my sexual frustration was just.. strong. It was good though. But we didn't even exchange phone numbers after. He said it was his rule not to do that.”  


“Which makes seeing him again even more awkward, right?”  
“Exactly.” Absentmindedly, I try to stir my tea and actually knock over the cup. “Oh, fuck. Wait a second. I spilled my tea.”  


“You're so _British_ ”, she states in amazement.  


“Just because I drink tea?”  


“You're drinking tea like every time I'm talking to you. You're British as hell.”  


“Well, I live here.” Doing my best to hold the phone between shoulder and ear, I wipe up the tea. “So, what's going on in New York City? How are you?”  


Amy plunges into a rant about her boyfriend who never does any housework and always lets her cook even though she spends as much time working as him. “Just because he works in an office and I work at home that doesn't mean it's less demanding. It's just the same amount of work.”  


“That sucks”, I say sympathetically. “Have you tried talking to him about it?”  


“Not really”, she admits. “I'm a little scared though I don't even know why. He really loves me and wouldn't hurt me on purpose.”  


“Then just do it. I promise, it'll make things better.”  


“Thanks. I'll do that.”  


“Thanks for your advice too.”  


“What advice? I wasn't really helpful”, Amy laughs.  


“Well... yeah, but it's just a difficult situation. It's still good to just talk to someone about everything. I'm glad you exist and we know each other”, I say softly.  


“I know, I'm really glad to have met you too. Bless the internet and Tumblr.”  


“Exactly.”  


For a moment the phone is quiet. Then she says, “Well, I have to go back to work. Good luck to you with everything.”  


“You too. Bye!”  


She hangs up and I am alone with my thoughts again. Feeling lost, I stare at the silent phone. It reminds me that I have promised to call my parents days ago and have been procrastinating it ever since. I eat my pizza as slowly as possible, but when I have finished, there are no more excuses not to call them. Groaning, I decide that I will have to do it now. I pick up my phone again.  


“Hello, Dan!” It's my mom. “How are you?”  


“Good.”  


“Why did it take you so long to answer?” There it is, the passive aggressive, accusing undertone in her voice. Oh, I hate it.  


“Sorry. Forgot.”  


“Well...”, she sighs. I wonder how it is even possible to fit so much disappointment and accusation into one single syllable. “We're used to it by now. How's school going?”  


“The holidays just ended yesterday. Not much time for anything interesting to happen”, I lie. Thank God she can't hear how guilty I probably look. Nothing interesting? I wish.  


“I'm still so proud of you! Dad is, too. Right?” An agreeing murmur in the background. “You're going to be such a good lawyer!”, she exclaims enthusiastically.  


“I hope so.” Not. I might as well bury myself alive under stacks of paper.  


“So, do you have a girlfriend, Dan?”, she asks curiously.  


“You ask this every time you call”, I say, exasperated. “No, I don't.”  


“Well, it could've changed since we talked for the last time! Don't you want to date? No cute girls at your university?”  


Even if there were any, I wouldn't care. I suppress a sigh. I haven't yet told my parents that to me boys are far more interesting than girls, though it's kind of a miracle they didn't notice it during my late teen years. I slept around a lot, not necessarily making sure to be discreet about it. But right now, I can't risk telling them. Maybe someday, when I have a job, but not while I'm still depending on their money. “Not really. But, well, I'm focusing on my education right now and dating would just distract me”, I say automatically. By now, I deliver this sentence like a well-rehearsed speech.  


“Maybe it would help you relax, take your mind off things... but I suppose you're right. I just want to have grandchildren one day, you know?”  
Jesus Christ. Like I exist to give my parents grandchildren. “Yeah, don't worry. It will happen eventually.”  


She starts telling me stories from their life and the neighbourhood. Since I don't really care about Mrs. Smith's petunias, I stop listening, throwing in a “Wow, really?” or “Incredible!” every now and then.  


My mind returns to Phil. Mr Lester now. He said he had the feeling that we would meet again and he was right, in a way neither of us would have imagined. God, how can we be so unlucky? If it had been any other way of meeting, I might have thought it was fate. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything, though, it's not like that was even _possible_ because we met once and haven't exchanged more than a few words. Not enough to be in love or even have a crush on someone, right? It was just sex.  


And yet. And yet. There was some sort of intimate connection beyond the purely physical contact, some feeling in the back of my head I can't pinpoint, but it makes it even more impossible to treat him like any of my teachers. I doubt he felt it too. Probably it was all in my head anyway. He said I was amazing though, sounding surprisingly sincere.  
Why is this all so complicated?  


What am I going to do?


	3. Do The Bad Thing

### 3: Do The Bad Thing

Phil and I manage to avoid each other for the next three weeks. In class, he succeeds in acting like I'm just one of his students, giving me the same amount of attention as everyone, neither more nor less. I don't really participate in the lessons, partly because I don't want him to be forced to look at me and say my name because that might be awkward for him, but also because I just don't give a fuck about law and never have.  


Louise is still trying her best to impress the attractive teacher by doing her homework carefully and focusing on the subject instead of her nail polish during lessons, but I suspect that the only effect it will have is a better grade at the end of the year. Not that this is bad for her, it actually is a necessary development if she doesn't want to fail the exams.  


One Thursday morning I wake up with the vague feeling of something being wrong. A glance at the clock tells me why – I have overslept and if I want to get to school in time, I will have to jump into my car right now and probably ignore a few red streetlights.  


“Fuck. Fuck, fuck”, I curse. I must have forgotten to set my alarm. Or it is broken. I usually never forget. I stand up so fast that my vision goes blurry, grab my bag and keys and race down the stairs to the car parking in front of the house. It probably isn't the best idea to drive fast and carelessly when you've just woken up, but I do so nevertheless. In the end, I actually arrive almost on time, run into the classroom and fall down into my seat next to Louise.  


“Nice hair”, she greets me in a whisper.  


“What?” I reach up to touch it. “Oh, shit. I didn't have the time to straighten it. Great, now I have to walk around like a fucking hobbit all day.”  


“Cheer up. It's adorable”, she grins. I give her a sarcastic smile.  


“Daniel Howell?”, a familiar voice says. I turn to look at the teacher and of course it's him. Of course I had to be late the exact day we have him in the first period. How could it be any different, considering my usual luck.  


“I – I'm sorry”, I stutter. “My alarm – I – I overslept. It won't happen again.  


He just nods, writing something down on his list. I lean back in the chair and try to relax a little. Prepare myself for another day of torture.

###

“Daniel? Can I talk to you for a minute?”  


I freeze in mid-movement and drop the bag I was about to sling over my shoulder. Slowly, I turn around to look at Phil. I just can't bring myself to think of him as Mr Lester. Once you know someone on first name terms, especially our way, it's hard to go back.  


I stay behind as the other students leave the room. Louise mouths “Good luck!”, casting me a both curious and worried look as she hurries past us. Finally, everyone is gone and the room is empty except for the two of us. He walks over to the door and closes it.  


“So. Looks like we did meet again.” He laughs, and it sounds a little helpless.  


“Indeed we did.” I watch him, waiting.  


“I... God, I don't know. This is bad.” He paces up and down, still appearing more like a teacher than like the Phil I knew.  


“Why?” I know the anwer, of course. I know exactly why it is bad, but I want to hear him say it.  


He stares at me in disbelief. “Why? You're distracting me! I know I should be treating you like any other student, just teaching you, but it's just impossible because whenever I see you, I think of... I can't say your name without remembering when... shit.” He takes a deep breath. “And then today you walked in with your hair like that and... it's just too much. I have no idea how you're doing it, but I feel more attracted to you than to any person I have met yet. I honestly don't even know why – it's not like our ten minute bathroom fuck was the best sex of my life... oh come on, no need to be insulted.” I cringe. I didn't know my silly thoughts were that easy to read. “... but there is something about you. I don't know. You have made much more of an impact on me than any other of those pretty boys. And now I'm your teacher. And that's bad.”  


“It is”, I agree. “Especially because I feel exactly the same way.”  


What makes me so reckless, I don't know. Maybe it's because I feel like I have nothing to lose. I take a step towards Phil. His eyes widen in surprise, but he immediately gives in to the kiss without protest, lips moving on mine and parting, tongue brushing mine. His hands tangle up in my hair at the back of my head. Lucky it's already messy so no one will notice the difference.  


After a few moments we break apart, out of breath and panting.  


“Fuck.”  


“This is wrong”, he says. “We shouldn't -”  


“I know”, I sigh. I know it's wrong, but it feels so good, and can't I swerve from the right lane one time in my life?  


“Wait a second.” He turns around, takes a piece of paper and scribbles something, hands shaking slightly. I look at him in wonder.  


He hands me the note. “My address. Are you free today in the evening? Around seven o'clock, I'd say. If that's okay with you.”  


“I – yes. Yes”, I respond, still surprised.  


“Well, then, see you later”, he smiles.  


“Okay. Bye.” I pick up my things from the table and turn to leave the room. His address. He wants me to come to his house.  


“There you are.” Louise is waiting for me outside. “What did he want?”  


“Uh...” I shake my head slightly, trying to return to reality. “Something about me being late and my general attitude during the lessons and that my parents pay for this education so I should appreciate it. The standard lecture. You know.”  


“Oh”, she says. “Quite strict for a new teacher, don't you think?” Is it just my imagination or is she examining me closely?  


“Yeah. I guess.”  


“You look a little messy. And your lips are very red”, she notes suggestively, and fuck. I was right. She suspects something.  


I laugh it off, maybe a little too loudly. “What are you implying? That I kissed him? That's silly and you know it.”  


She raises an eyebrow. “You're right. I wasn't implying anything. You _surely_ wouldn't do that kind of thing and lie to me about it.”  


I choose to ignore her blatant sarcasm and say, “My next lesson is about to start. I need to hurry.” I leave her standing there and practically run away without looking back.

###

Since neither reading, schoolwork nor my usually always reliable source of comfort, the internet, can help me calm down and my nervousness is steadily increasing, I leave the flat at half past five. If I would drive straight to the address he's given me, I would be way too early, so I decide to just drive around in town aimlessly. I turn on the radio and turn it off immediately because the music is terrible. Instead, I play a Radiohead album. To the sounds of “Paranoid Android”, I stare at the empty road ahead of me, trying to think of nothing but constantly returning to the thought of where I'm about to go, what I'm about to do. It's not right, it's bad, it's the wrong decision. I should not be here in the car, I should be at home, doing homework and fulfilling my duties as a responsible adult instead of doing the most irresponsible, impulsive thing possible.  


I know it's wrong, but I'm doing it anyway.  


The sun is already about to set, but it's later than it was yesterday – thankfully, the days are getting longer again and winter is slowly, slowly coming to an end. All those long, dark nights on my own depress me.  


The digital clock in my car tells me that it is already a quarter past six. Since I tend to getting lost on the way and being late as a result, I conclude it would be better to be a little earlier than necessary. I open Google Maps on my phone and type in his address. I have been carrying around the piece of paper it's written on in my pocket all day.  


The sky is black and cloudy with only a few stars visible when I park outside the house Google Maps has led me to. Since I'm twenty minutes too early, I stay in the car, taking in my surroundings. The house is an apartment block. It's hard to tell in the dark, but it looks neither expensive nor cheap. A thoroughly middle-class impression. The number, 34, is illuminated by an old-fashioned yellow lamp that contrasts the otherwise modern aesthetic of the building.  


For a while I sit in silence, nervousness slowly building up to panic until I can't stand the tension any more and get up to leave the car and stand in front of the door.  
My eyes scan a row of about five names next to door bell buttons until I find the one I'm looking for. I breathe in the cold, clear winter night's air, exhale slowly, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart, and press the button next to “Lester”.


	4. Underneath My Skin

### 4: Underneath My Skin

The door buzzes. I push it open, step inside and walk up the stairs until the third floor, trying my best to look more confident than I am feeling. He is waiting, holding the door to his apartment open, and greets me with a smile. “Hi.”  


“H-hello”, I say, my voice getting stuck in my throat. My heartbeat is still impossibly fast. We look at each other for a few seconds without moving or talking. God, this is awkward.  


“So, um.. do you want to.. come inside?”, he asks.  


“Yes. Of course. That's why I'm here, right?” I laugh a little uncomfortably.  


I cross the doorstep. As soon as the door is closed behind us, the tension in the air becomes so strong I can almost taste it. A part of me wants to grab him, make him pin me against the wall and – no. Not yet. We will get to that later, I tell myself. That's what I hope, at least. To take my mind off those thoughts, I take a look at my surroundings. The corridor I'm standing in has a distinct air of usually being messy but having been tidied up in a hurry not long ago.  


“Have you already had dinner or do you want something?”  


“Actually –” I realise that I haven't eaten since I came back from school because I was too nervous. “That would be nice. If it doesn't make any trouble...”  


“No, I've cooked already”, he says. “I hope you like spaghetti with tomato sauce.”  


“Who doesn't?” I grin. “Very creative.”  


“I'm sorry, I'm not that good of a cook, to be honest”, he laughs. “My greatest achievement is lasagna or something.”  


“Well, my greatest achievement is pizza and chinese takeaway food. But I can make really good pancakes.”  


With a small smile to myself, I notice that there are already two plates on the table in the kitchen. He must have expected me to want something to eat. The table is neatly laid, covered with a checkered tablecloth even. Candles wouldn't have looked out of place.  


We sit down, eating the spaghetti in silence for a few minutes. Though I try to refrain, I can't seem to stop watching him. Every time I avert my eyes, they inevitably return to his face. There's something about his features that fascinates me, even though they're not the usual definition of perfect beauty. I could look at him for hours. After a while, he frowns and says, “Why are you staring at me?”  


I flinch. I had hoped to be less obvious. “I'm sorry. But.. you make it kind of hard not to stare”, I admit.  


I think I see a faint blush in his pale cheeks, but maybe it's just the light. He laughs and says, “Well, thanks, then.”  


“This is kind of weird, isn't it?”, I say, toying with my fork and spoon on the empty plate. “I mean, we've seen each other in school almost every day and once in that bar...” The memory makes blood rush to my cheeks. Hoping that he won't notice, I continue, “.. but we never actually talked for more than ten minutes.”  


“I know, I thought that too”, he says. “But I'd prefer to catch up on that later because I'm not really in the mood for talking right now.”  


I choke on the water I was just drinking. Is he insinuating what I'm thinking? I notice his smirk as he watches me trying not to cough. It tells me that yes, he definitely means what I thought. When I can finally speak again, I say, “Well.. then... I guess..”  


He is clearly amused to see me embarrassed and lost for words like this. “Come on.”  


Standing up, he takes my hand and pulls me up with him. We stand next to the table, facing each other. Gently, he places a hand on the small of my back and the other in my neck. My skin tingles where he's touching me. For a few seconds that feel like hours we just look into each others eyes, breathing audibly and full of anticipation, until I lean in and close the gap between our lips.  


The kiss is soft and sweet at first, but quickly evolves into something deeper and dirtier, hands roaming hungrily. We are suffocating, not needing air. I feel the kiss in my entire body. With my right hand, I mess up the hair at the back of his head in a desperate attempt to bring him closer, even closer. He groans against my lips. “Oh, fuck.”  


I pull back, gasping for air. “Same”, I say breathlessly, and fuck, I'm already getting hard. He notices with a smirk and says, “My bedroom is over there.” His suggestive tone makes my skin crawl. Without waiting for my answer – not that I'd be able to do more than nod – he pulls me with him impatiently. We stagger across the room, our limbs still desperate to touch again. Before opening the door, he turns around to kiss me again.  


We make it inside and fall onto the bed. I barely have a moment to take in the surroundings – double bed, wide window offering a view of the almost starless sky, the rest of the room in darkness mostly – until he attacks my neck with his lips, sucking and biting, and any control I had over my body is lost. My eyes are closed as I'm helplessly, and unsuccessfully, trying to breathe normally. The sensitive skin responds to every touch.  


“You're gonna.. leave a hickey again”, I manage. “Someone will see it.”  


“So what?”, he just asks, and he's right. Actually, I couldn't care less right now.  


Nevermind”, I say, or mean to say because the words get stuck in my throat and my breath hitches when he moves a hand to my crotch, rubbing the area that's still covered by my jeans. I tilt my head back wih a moan. Fuck, we're still fully dressed and I feel like I could come already.  


“Too much fabric”, he states through gritted teeth, and I choke out a laugh at his words.  


Despite our urgency we don't rush it, no torn clothes or buttons ripped off, but slowly, carefully. He pulls my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor and then it's my turn, and we're both topless, our mouths meeting once again. My hands move over the smooth, slightly sweaty skin of his back to his jeans. I make an attempt to unzip it and pull it down, but he objects. “You first.”  


He struggles with my skinny jeans and laughs. “Jesus, they're even tighter than the last time.”  


“I don't have anything less skinny”, I say apologetically and assist him and finally, they're off my legs and lying on the floor. I pull down his jeans, which is a lot easier, and sink down onto my knees to trace the insides of his thighs with my lips and tongue. His breathing becomes erratic when I take him into my mouth, sucking slowly and trying my best not to gag even though he's fucking huge. I love the sounds he makes, the deep moans and small gasps, because though they're not nearly as loud as mine, they show that he isn't as composed as he likes to appear. The way he reacts to my touch makes me feel like I have power over him.  


He protests quietly when I stop and stand up again. “How are you so good at this?”, he asks, breathing heavily.  


I can't keep my satisfied smile to myself. “I was sort of a slut when I was eighteen or nineteen and let's just say that I got a lot of practice back then. Apparently I didn't un-learn it.”  


“Definitely not.”  


I push him onto the bed, straddling his legs with mine. Bringing my face so close to his that our foreheads touch and our breath mixes, I whisper, “Now shut up and fuck me.”  
He breathes in sharply, as if caught by surprise, and in a low voice he says, “Did I ever tell you that I love power bottoms?” I just shake my head in response but he didn't seem to expect an answer anyway. Sucking and biting at my lower lip a little too hard for it to be just pleasant, he manages to turn us around so I'm lying on my back with him on top of me.  


He leans over me and reaches for the nightstand, opening the drawer and returning with a bottle of lube and a condom. I shiver in expectation as he pours some of it onto his fingers. My legs automatically spread wider when he reaches between my ass cheeks and pushes two fingers inside me. I almost cry out when he starts moving them in and out roughly. Upon hearing me moan, he groans, “Oh, finally. I thought you'd never -” but then twists his fingers, hitting the spot that makes my entire body jerk and this time I really scream. “Fuck, oh fuck.”  


He adds another finger and keeps up the angle and rhythm. I cling to his back, probably leaving scratches with my fingernails, but I'm too far gone to care. I don't think I've ever been this turned on in my life and it isn't even a cock, just fingers. This is nothing like our first time together, nothing.  


“I'm gonna come if you keep doing that”, I moan. The fingers slow down and he eventually pulls them out, leaving me shivering and feeling empty.  


With shaking hands, he rips open the packaging of the condom, putting it on and applying lube again. I pull my knees almost all the way up to my chest, exposing myself completely. He pushes against my entrance, teasing me, until I'm begging for him to fuck me because I can't stand it. We move in a steady rhythm together, his thrusts slow and deep. My higher-pitched moans mix with his low grunts. I focus on his face in the semi-darkness while everything else blurs, lips slightly parted, drops of sweat reflecting the little light, dilated pupils, until a wave of lust forces my eyes shut. I know he's looking at me too.  


At one point, I am close to coming, but somehow I manage to keep going, pleasure still getting more and more overwhelming. “This is”, I gasp for air, “the most intense thing I have ever felt.” He leans down to kiss me in response, wet and messy and tasting of sweat. The fingers of his left hand interlace with mine while his right is slowly stroking my leaking cock.  


We continue for what could be hours - time doesn't exist right now - until my heart is racing and I am unable to catch my breath. “Phil, please”, I whimper. “I can't take it anymore..” He nods, brows furrowing, eyes half-closed and mouth dropping open as he quickens his thrusts as well as the movements of his right hand and I feel like I'm falling apart beneath him. I'm seriously not sure if my body will be able to stand the climax without passing out. He has stopped controlling the sounds that leave his mouth, groaning and grunting, but of course my moans and whimpers ring louder. I clutch his hips so hard they will be bruised tomorrow, my eyes screwed shut, desperate gasps leaving my lips. The pace is still increasing and we're both trembling. Only when I taste blood I realise that I have been biting my lip.  


“Fuck”, I gasp, “I can't – I – I'm sorry...”, because I am unable to hold it back any longer, the pleasure raises to the point where it has to explode, and it does, my back arching and my vision going temporarily black as the orgasm rushes through my body. I'm crying out his name without meaning to. Somewhere behind all the blur I sense him coming too, holding onto my wrists and moaning my name.  


The movement stops and for a moment we're absolutely still except for uncontrollably shaking limbs, then he gently pulls out of me and falls down on the bed next to me. Breathing heavily, we lie in silence, staring at the ceiling and trying to return to reality. I notice that he is still holding my hand.  


“Well”, I say once I am confident I am able to form coherent words again, “that wasn't bad.”  


“Not bad?” He turns his head to give me an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me?”  


My weak grin tells him that yes, I am indeed just joking. “It was fucking great.”  


“You know how I said it wasn't like us having sex was the most amazing sexual experience of my life and you were insulted?”  


“I wasn't -”, I try to protest.  


“If you wanted to change that, I think you may have been successful.”  


It takes me a moment to process his compliment. “Wow. Um. Thanks I guess. Same though, but that's hardly difficult because almost all the people I fucked were younger than twenty and without any experience. Even a few girls, when I was young and confused.” I shudder. “Never again.”  


He is watching me talk with a slight smile. “Technically, I am still attracted to women, but in a way, they just bore me”, he says. “You could never have something like that with a woman. Never.” He clears his throat. “...well, not me. I don't know about those weird.. straight men. God, how can they be straight when there are boys like you walking around.”  


My cheeks feel like they're about to blush once again. Phil just seems to have that effect on me. I look at him, unable to avert my eyes, and giggle quietly.  


“What?”, he asks.  


“Nothing”, I say. “Just that – you look a lot different to when you're in school. Softer and warmer.”  


“That's cute”, he says, then grimacing as if he remembered something unpleasant. “About the school thing.”  


“Oh. Right.” I had successfully managed to forget that for the last few hours.  


“I think you know that it would be better for both of us if you don't tell anyone about this.”  


“I know.” Hell, it's not like I'm that stupid or keen on fucking both of our lifes up.  


“Not even your friends, especially that girl...” He struggles to remember her name for a second. “Louise. She seems to be the kind to gossip and spill secrets. No offense, she's probably a nice girl, but...”  


I laugh at how accurate his image of her is. “You're right. That's exactly what she is like. I wouldn't really call her my friend either, actually. She probably would say we're friends, but whatever. There's one person I told about you, though, but I doubt it will cause problems because she lives in the US and doesn't know anyone here.”  


“How come you have friends in the US?” He sounds intrigued.  


“Just that one”, I explain. “We met, well, on the internet. On Tumblr, to be more exact.” I turn my face away slightly because I feel embarrassed. Most people don't take internet friendships seriously. “I was following her and she was follow me and we started talking for some reason I don't remember. We've known each other for... two years now, I think.”  


“Have you ever met in real life?”  


“No, but we skype and phone a lot. She's not... some creepy old man or something.”  


“I wasn't implying that”, he laughs. “Just curious. I don't think it will be a problem you told her. But try not to mention it to anyone else, because it might be very dangerous. Especially if we're going to, um, do this regularly now.”  


“Oh, are we? I'm not sure if I really want to repeat that experience...”, I tease.  


He scoffs. “Of course you want to.” Pausing to stress his next words, he continues, “I would even break my rule and give you my phone number.”  


I gasp theatrically. “I'm honoured.” Because his lips look irresistibly soft and inviting, I lean over for a short, sweet kiss. He smiles against my lips. Falling back into the pillow, I complain, “I'm so tired. I don't want to leave.”  


“Stay”, he simply replies. “I'm not going to throw you out.”  


“But it's Thursday. I have school tomorrow.”  


“So do I”, he responds with a tired, but slightly wicked grin. “We'll just drive in separate cars and nobody will notice anything. Or does someone expect you back at home?”  


“No, I live alone”, I say, still hesitating, but he's right. The prospect of staying the night seems so much more inviting than having to get up, dress myself and drive home to sleep in my cold bed without the comforting presence of someone lying next to me. “I'm staying”, I decide.  


“Good”, he mumbles, apparently already half-asleep. An arm reaches out to pull me closer. I snuggle up against his chest, listening to the slow, even breathing until I fall asleep myself.


	5. The Meaning Of Morning Kisses

### 5: The Meaning Of Morning Kisses

I awake with a sudden jerk, my sleep disturbed by an alarm clock that's not mine. The bed I'm lying in is unfamiliar as well as the wooden ceiling. It takes me another moment to remember where I am. Last night. Phil.  


I turn around to see him watching me wake up, looking sleepy, soft and somehow more vulnerable than usual. “Morning”, he says and his face breaks into a smile. “Hope you slept well.”  


“Indeed I did.” I return the smile. It was that particularly deep kind of post-coital slumber that leaves your previously exhausted body well-rested. “Too short, though. Do you always get up this early?”  


“Have to”, he responds. “The teachers are supposed to be there twenty minutes before the first period starts. You know, prepare our stuff.”  


“I keep forgetting you're my teacher”, I say, torn between desperation and amusement.  


“Well, I guess you don't usually get to see them like this.” He quirks an eyebrow.  


“True”, I say. “For a student it's somehow hard to imagine their teachers have a life outside of school, that they eat, sleep, go out with friends, have sex... though I don't want to imagine _that_ with most of them, to be honest.”  


He laughs, eyes sparkling. “I know what you mean. Neither do I. But I'm glad to be your exception.”  


“Who says you are?”, I tease him.  


He is about to anwer but gets sidetracked by a look at the clock. “Oh, damn, I have to get up now or I'll be late. Stop distracting me, Howell.”  


“Hey, it's not my fault!” I attempt to throw a pillow at him but miss by inches.  


I watch as he stands up and gets dressed with his back facing me. My eyes take in his pale, smooth skin I couldn't properly see last night. The memory of how it feels, however, is fresh in my mind. The skin shows are a few angry red scratches, marks and bruises. I suppose my body looks similar.  


With a sigh, I sit up. I will be late too if I don't hurry up now. I pick up my clothes that are scattered on the floor and smell them. Not exactly laundry fresh, but it'll do.  


“You can borrow some of my clothes”, he offers, and only then I notice he has been watching me. Suddenly I feel self-conscious – irrational, because it's not like there is anything he hasn't seen and touched yet. But I have never really liked what I see in mirrors.  


“That would be nice”, I say gratefully. “Just a shirt or something. My jeans are still okay.”  


He rummages in the drawer and finally throws a shirt onto the bed. “I think we have about the same size, so it should fit.”  


I nod, pick it up and pull it over my head. It's dark red, not black like I usually wear, but it's better than wearing yesterday's old one. “Thanks a lot. I guess there'll be an opportunity for me to give it back.”  


“Just not at school in front of everyone, right?”  


“I'm not stupid”, I complain.  


“Shit.” He starts laughing. “I just realised I forgot to shower. I usually do that in the evening but well, last night...”  


“Oh. Me too”, I notice. I probably still smell of sex, sweat, and him. “Well. Too late now, isn't it? We'll both just have to use a lot of deodorant, I suppose.”  


He walks over to the bathroom opposite the bathroom door and I follow like a lost puppy. Since I didn't even bring a toothbrush – I wasn'texpecting to stay overnight! - he hands me a new one, and in silence, we brush our teeth next to each other. The mirror shows a sleepy, curly-haired Dan with a few unmistakable bruises in different sizes on my neck. Won't be able to cover them, but oh well. Let the other students think what they want to think. I don't care.  


“Do you have a hair straightener?”, I ask half-heartedly.  


“Yes, but I won't give it to you”, he protests. “You look so much cuter with curly hair.”  


“Please?” I pout.  


“You don't even have the time now.”  


“I guess you're right”, I sigh. Going to school as a hobbit for the second day in one week. Fuck it.  


We drink a cup of coffee together in the kitchen, a sunlit room with big windows that's untidy but homely in a way that tells me he spends a lot of time here. Then the moment of goodbye has come. Uncertainly, we're standing at the door, fidgeting with our bags.  


“Well, that was..” He clears his throat audibly, awkwardly. “A nice night.”  


“Yeah”, I say, staring at the air beside his face. Then I stop resisting the temptation and move forward quickly to bring our lips together one last time. When I pull back, we're both smiling.  


“Goodbye, then”, I say and open the door.  


“Wait!”, he says. “Phone number.” He dashes into the living room and returns with a piece of paper and a pen. The way he scribbles down the numbers reminds me of the way he wrote down his address for me yesterday. God, yesterday feels ages away. Like everything has changed in the last twenty hours. I pocket the piece of paper and open the door. When we're walking down the stairs next to each other, I constantly have to resist the urge to take his hand.  


“See you in school later”, he smirks once we're outside.  


“Not today”, I remind him. Friday is one of the days I don't get to see him at all.  


“Oh, right. But Monday, definitely. Or you text me.”  


“I will.” We stand around some more. “ _Goodbye_.”  


I turn around and enter my car. It suddenly feels weird to be alone. Unnatural. I turn on the radio, immediately regretting my decision because the music is still awful. Good to know that this hasn't changed overnight though, because if it had suddenly been playing music I like I would have started thinking this is all a dream. I put “Save Rock and Roll” by Fall Out Boy into the CD player and turn up the volume to help me wake up and take my mind off those thoughts. “I'm gonna change you like a remix”, Patrick Stump sings and I laugh because this is exactly how I'm feeling right now. I'm still made of the same parts, but they seem to have been remixed to make everything different.  


I'm not sure what this means, but it feels good.

###

“Who are you and what have you done to Dan Howell?”, Louise exclaims when she sees me.  


“What?”  


“Your hair is curly again and you're wearing colour”, she states. Then she seems to spot the bruises on my neck. “Oh. Oh my god. You totally fucked last night.”  


“What? No, no, I -”, but any excuse I could think of would be useless.  


She punches PJ who is standing next to us, lost in thought or maybe just tired. “Hey! PJ! Dan got fucked last night.”  


“Huh? Oh. Cool. Congrats.” He doesn't sound like he cares at all, for which I am extremely thankful right now.  


“Would you please be quiet?”, I hiss at Louise. “Everyone can hear us.” I feel like a few people have already turned around to stare at me, but I don't bother checking.  


“So you admit it?”, she asks, apparently thrilled. “Who was it? Do I know him?”  


“I – yes. I may have had sex last night. And no, you don't know him”, I lie.  


“But are you, like, dating? Boyfriends?”  


“No. At least I don't think.. no, we're not dating.”  


“Oh.” She looks disappointed.  


“You know you can always talk to us when you have problems or something”, PJ pipes in. “And tell us when you have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.. really, we'd tolerate it if you were straight.”  


I act offended. “Straight? ME? Do I look like I'm an _abomination_?”  


All three of us break into laughter. I hope the little distraction threw Louise off topic so she won't investigate any further and maybe ask awkward questions. She doesn't, but she eyes my shirt with slightly narrowed eyes. When I cast her a questioning look, she says, “Nice shirt.” Her smile looks a little strained though, and I have never been so glad to hear the bell that tells us to get into the classroom.

###

I'm sitting at a table in the cafeteria, alone because Louise has a different schedule than me and is currently stuck in some boring maths lesson. The cheese and salat sandwich is tasting bad as usual. This is why I always bring my own food for the lunch breaks. I take another bite and stare gloomily at the sticky table.  


“Hey, Dan.” PJ sits down opposite me. “Hope you don't mind if I sit here.”  


“Um, yes, I do. I don't want to spend time with you”, I deadpan, and for a second he looks unsure like he doesn't know if I'm kidding or not, but then he grins.  


“Nice food. Looks tasty.”  


“Yeah, well, tastes even better than it looks”, I reply sarcastically as he opens a lunchbox with some rice and vegetables inside it that smell far better than my own miserable meal. He silently offers me some of it and I accept gratefully.  


After we have finished eating in silence he says, “So. Um. About.. whatever happened last night. If there's something you want to talk about... I don't know, you looked a little... upset. But if you don't want to talk, that's fine of course.”  


Sometimes his dreamy appereance makes me forget how observant he actually is. And I am kind of surprised that he genuinely cares about me because if I was my friend, I wouldn't. “Thanks for noticing”, I say. “If that makes sense. I don't know. It's all a bit weird.”  


“What's your relationship? I mean, it doesn't sound like you just met this once or something because that wouldn't impact you like this. And besides you don't seem to be the type for one night stands. So, do you meet regularly, are you dating, are you in love with him?”  


“That's why it is so weird. I'm not sure. We actually had a one night stand in the beginning but we met again and I thought it was just going to be, like, a casual affair... but then he cooked for me and we had dinner together and, I don't know, I thought...”  


“Sounds more like a date”, he states.  


“Right, that's what I thought!”, I say. “And I stayed overnight and we woke up together and spent the morning together and all that... also the, um, the sex wasn't... it was... it was intense and more like..” I pause, searching for the right words. “It was kind of like... making love, not just fucking. If you know what I mean.”  


“Yeah, I know.” He nods.  


“Sorry, if this makes you uncomfortable...”  


“No, no, it's fine”, he tells me. “Just because I don't have sex with guys that doesn't mean I can't listen to you talking about it. I'm not _that_ no homo. And honestly, I don't think it's completely different with girls, at least concerning emotions.”  


I smile, relieved. “Thanks. So as I said, it was really intense and slow and so long, I can't tell how long exactly but I think it could have been hours...”  


“Doesn't matter, time is an illusion anyway, isn't it?”, he muses and then says, “Not the time for being philosophical, I know, sorry.”  


I just laugh, trying not to think about what he said because it will inevitably give me existential despair if I do.  


“And ever since everything just feels kind of different”, I continue. “I don't know. But I feel like it moved something deep inside me and I can't stop thinking about it. About him. I don't know.”  


“Sounds like you're in love, if you ask me.”  


“I... do you really think so?”, I ask sheepishly.  


“I can't read your mind of course, but yes. And from what you said..” He smiles. “I think there is a good chance he's in love with you too, or at least about to fall for you.”  


“Really?” The thought should not get my heart beating faster like it does. Fuck.  


“Yeah. You said we don't know the guy, right?”  


I can't lie to him. Not when he's being so nice, and he is the only friend I have here. “Actually, you do. But I can't tell you who it is right now. I hope you understand.”  


PJ gasps. “Is he a vampire?”  


“Idiot”, I mutter, but I can't help smiling. With his pale skin, black hair and confusingly bright eyes he does look like one, in a way.


	6. Something Special

### 6: Something Special

I successfully ignore the phone number in my pocket until Sunday. My mind keeps returning to it whenever I look at the jacket, but since Amy advised me to wait a few days until I text or call him, I obey. She's the expert.  


On Sunday, when I'm having my lonely 12 a.m. breakfast of scrambled eggs and a cup of tea, I decide I have waited long enough. I stand up from the table and cross my small flat to fetch the piece of paper. The numbers are hastily written and it takes me a moment to decipher them, but then I have it. I save the number under the name “Phil”. Just his first name, partly because someone could see my phone and recognise the teacher's last name and partly because it feels more intimate and appropriate.  


Then I spend about fifteen minutes trying to decide on my words for the message.until I just close my eyes and press “Send”.  


[12:27] Dan: Hey, beautiful. It's me, your secret lover.  


I immediately regret my attempt at being funny and add  


[12:29] Dan: just kidding, it's me, Dan  


Christ, why did I write that stupid first message. I throw my phone onto the table, angry with myself, and walk up and down my 30 square metres tiny apartment. To try and distract my mind from beating myself up I turn on the TV and watch an episode of Attack on Titan. I probably know every sentence by heart, but it calms me down while waiting for the phone to finally buzz, which it does another twenty minutes later. I open the message and a smile spreads on my face, accompanied by reddening cheeks and a quickening heartbeat.  


[12:57] Phil: isn't that the same thing? (Hi)

###

Without explicitly planning it, we pick up a routine over the next few weeks. He usually suggests that we meet, at least once a week and almost always on Fridays or Saturdays, and I never object because it's not like I have plans for any evening, any day of any week. I drive over to his house, a way I find without Google Maps by now. I never invite him to my flat.  


Once I'm in his apartment, we make out, have sex and spend the rest of the evening in bed, watching TV or just talking. “You turn me into a horny teenager again”, he tells me once. “I thought that time was over, the feeling of wanting someone this badly... but I'm having a throwback because of you.” I laugh and say I know what he means because I feel the exact same way.  


It doesn't become a habit for me to stay overnight, even though I always bring clothes and a toothbrush now, just in case. Sometimes I wish we could leave the house together, go to the cinema to see a new movie we both want to see, but that's impossible. In school he greets me with a distant smile and a nod, just like any student. We can't take any risks. I try not to stare at him too blatantly during lessons.  


When we're lying next to each other one Saturday evening, I ask if he has ever been in a serious, long-term relationship. He turns his head, clearly surprised by the question.  


“I don't really know anything about your past, about your family, everything like that”, I explain. “And I... I'm just interested.”  


“I never talk about that stuff to anyone, really”, he says, looking a little uncomfortable. “But well, I guess... yes, I had a three or four year long relationship when I was about as old as you're now. It was.... it was a good time.” The expression on his face is a mixture of nostalgia and pain. He pauses and I wonder if it would be okay for me to ask a question or if he doesn't want to talk about it, but then he continues, “We met in college and immediately started dating. I was... I was in love.” He laughs. “And it never went away, after years I my heart still skipped a beat whenever we looked at each other. Silly, right?”  


I nod unconvincingly. “Maybe.”  


“I even thought about getting married! I can't believe how... naïve I was. Turned out the feeling wasn't entirely mutual and the relationship not as serious as I believed. It came to a pretty nasty ending. That was two years ago. I haven't been in any kind of relationship since, well, nothing worth talking about. Mostly, I've been.. hanging around in bars, like the one we met in.” He gives me one of his sunny smiles, but it doesn't look as genuine as usual.  


“I'm sorry about that”, I say, and I mean it, sincerely.  


“It's okay. I should be over it by now.”  


“Are you?”  


“I don't know.” He closes his eyes for a second and opens them again. “What about you? Your past... love life?” His smirk is somewhat mocking, but I choose to ignore that.  


“Well, not much about the emotional aspect”, I say. “The only relationship I ever had was with that guy when we were seventeen, but he was very deep in the closet and after like two months of meeting in secret we decided to stop it. I wouldn't say I was in love with him. I don't even really know what that feels like.”  


“Good for you.”  


“What?” I look at him in surprise. He doesn't answer. “Anyway. We had our first time together though. It wasn't great, very inexperienced, messy and over too soon, but new and exciting. In the following years I... well, let's say I fucked anything that was willing until I got bored of it because not one of them really mattered.” Not like you do, I add mentally. I never knew how different it feels with someone that isn't meaningless, emotionally.  


“You once told me about that”, he remembers. “That's how you got so good at this.” His voice drops, low and seductive, and fuck, even though we just got off, I feel like I would be up for a second round. I half-crawl over on the bed until he is beneath me and bring our lips together. He returns the kiss lazily. When I slowly force his mouth open to swipe my tongue over his lower lip, he inhales audibly. “Hmm. Wait”, he mumbles against my lips. I lift my head just an inch. “What?”  


“Wanted to ask you a question. Wanted to keep talking to you.”  


“Can't we talk later?”, I complain.  


“No”, he replies sternly and attempts to escape from underneath me.  


I groan in disappointment and drop my head back onto the pillow. “Okaaay. Ask.”  


“Why are you studying law if you clearly hate it?”  


“That...”, I exhale slowly, “...is a really good question.”  


“Why did you even start in the first place and why don't you just leave school and do something different?”  


“I don't know”, I say miserably. “I started it because I feel like it was expected of me to do something like that. Law, medicine, whatever. Something serious, educated. I feel like my parents and society in general expected that. And I'm staying because I don't know what else I could do.”  


“Nothing at all?”, he asks incredulously.  


“I don't have any special talents, I'm not good at anything.”  


“I'm sure that's not true – you must have something you enjoy doing. Dreams. Something you wanted to be when you were younger”, he persists.  


“Not really. Except... no, but that's just stupid and guaranteed to fail.”  


“No, tell me. Even if it's stupid, I won't laugh or judge you”, he promises.  


“Theatre”, I mumble and blush. “It was my favourite thing at school.. actually one of my favourite things in general. They told me I was really good. I wanted to be an actor but everybody said it was not a good idea and I should do something _real_. See, I told you it's dumb.”  


“What? Not at all!”, he exclaims indignantly. “I can't believe you actually think it is. Honestly, why do you care so much about what others say? It's your life and right now, you don't look like listening to their opinions made you very happy. Have a little more courage to be, you know, rebellious.”  


“You're a teacher. Don't you talk to me about rebelling against society”, I say, smiling wearily.  


“I'm a teacher because I wanted it and enjoy it! If I had wanted to be something less... socially accepted, I'm pretty sure I would have done it. I actually considered studying something more creative at first, something with movies. If I had really wanted that, I wouldn't have given a shit, but I just preferred the idea of teaching.”  


“Good for you”, I answer. I didn't mean it to come out as sarcastic as it does.  


“Listen”, he says. “I have a friend who does a hobby theatre group. Just go there, try it, see if you still like it.”  


I hesitate and am about to object, but he continues, “Just to try. Come on. You will be unhappy for the rest of your life if you keep doing what you're doing so just be brave and, as cliché as it sounds, follow your dreams.”  


“I guess you're right”, I admit. “I'll see.” Staring at the ceiling, I sigh dramatically and inform him, “You're really good at ruining the mood, you know. Talking about life is a huge turn off.”  


“I'm also good at bringing the mood back”, he says, tone full of insinuation.  


“Oh yeah?” A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips. “Prove it, then.”

###

When I leave the apartment later, dishevelled and weak in the knees, I run into his neighbour. She is wearing elaborate make up and dressed up in a little black dress, clearly about to spend the night drinking and dancing to terrible disco music. The way her eyes look slightly unfocused suggests she is already drunk. She looks at me, up and down, and smiles. “So you're that boy who's so loud in bed. Oh, no need to blush like that. The walls are pretty thin.”  


Hating my body, I wish I could stop the blood from rushing to my head whenever I'm ever so slightly feeling embarrassed. She leans towards me conspirationally, the smell of alcohol in her breath washing over me. “In the two years he's been living here, I never witnessed Phil bringing someone home with him. Especially not frequently. I don't know if you're dating or whatever, but I can definitely tell you you're something special.”  


“Um.. thanks?”, I say, completely confused.  


“No problem.” She nods and proceeds to walk down the stairs. “Bye, pretty boy. You're cute. It's a shame you're probably gay.”  


“Goodbye. Have fun tonight.” I follow her with my eyes as she leaves the house, walking surprisingly straight despite her level of alcohol. A bubble of happiness seems to swell inside my chest when I replay her words in my head and my face breaks into an almost insanely big smile.


	7. A Stranger

### 7: A Stranger

[16:15] Phil: The theatre club meets on Mondays at six p.m. I told my friend you'll be there this week. Or do you have plans for Monday?  
[16:17] Dan: what even are plans  
[16:20] Phil: good, I'll send you the address  
[16:23] Dan: wait are you actually serious about this  
[16:23] Phil: Yes???  
[16:28] Dan: oh uhm I don't think I can go there because of reasons  
[16:30] Phil: You will and I'll drag you there if I have to  
[16:31] Dan: why do you want to torture me :(  
[16:32] Phil: I want what's best for you  
[16:34] Dan: sigh  
[16:35] Phil: It's just two hours. Come on  
[16:37] Dan: sighhhhh okay you have a point I'll do it

“For you”, I type, stare at the words for three seconds and delete the message.

[16:40] Phil: Great! I'd accompany you but we have a conference that day so I won't make it. I'm afraid you'll have to make it through without me holding your hand  
[16:42] Dan: :-/  
[16:44] Phil: They're going to like you. How could they not?

Because I am a stupid, boring, unlovable trashcan that never leaves the house and doesn't know how to be good at anything, including being nice to people and making friends?

[16:46 ] Dan: :-//  
[16:48] Phil: You're better than you think you are, you know.

I am so fucking in love with you.

[16:50] Dan: thanks

He sends me the address and then he's gone. I stare at the clock. Five p.m. on a Saturday night and I am sitting at home all alone, not knowing what to do. We were supposed to meet today, but earlier he texted me that he wasn't feeling well – had probably caught a cold – and thought it would be better for both of our health not to come too close today. Or so he said.  


I groan and bury my face in my hands. What if he was just making up excuses because he didn't want to see me? What if he started getting bored of me, or worse, annoyed? I would understand. Hell, I would understand it better than if he actually, genuinely, still wanted to spend time with me after almost two months. I'm so incredibly annoying and have literally no good qualities at all.  


I turn on my laptop and gloomily scroll through my Tumblr dashboard, but it doesn't manage to take my mind off those thoughts.  
He probably just said it as an excuse.  


Still at least four hours until it's socially acceptable and not mentally ill to go to sleep. For a moment, I consider doing homework, but immediately dismiss the idea. I give up on trying to distract myself and pick up my phone again.  


“Amy? It's Dan.”  


“Are you okay? You sound really sad”, she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.  


“Well... No”, I answer truthfully. “Just, you know. Having one of those days again.”  


“Oh”, she says. “It's been a while since that happened for the last time, hasn't it?”  


“Yes. Two months or something.” In fact, it was the exact day I decided to go to the bar, on the weekend before school started again. “Look, Amy, I'm sorry... I'm sorry I just call you when I'm not feeling well or have some sort of problem, I'm so fucking selfish and I know it but I just -”  


“Whoa, whoa”, she interrupts me. “Don't think that. Really. That's what I'm here for. I'm always there for you. _Really_.”  


“Thanks”, I mumble.  


“So what's wrong? Talk to Auntie Amy.”  


I giggle involuntarily and say, “Kind of everything. It's just... I hate myself and I don't know why I am this person I don't want to be but I can't change it, I can't change... I don't even know why anyone would like me. I'm terrible.” My voice breaks and I fight back tears. Not now. I can't be weak too, in addition to everything else.  


“You're not. Seriously. You're great and a lot of people like you. You know what? Call one of your friends and ask if they want to hang out with you. I feel like you need human contact right now.”  


“No, I think that would make it worse.”  


“It wouldn't. Trust Aunt Amy. I'm not talking about a party or something, just one friend. Call PJ and ask if he wants to come over.”  


I try to protest, but she continues persuading me until I give in. “Okay. Thanks, Amy. I love you.”  


“I love you too.”  


“No hetero.”  


She laughs and says, “Goodbye, you nerd. Have fun tonight.”

###

PJ doesn't have plans for tonight – not that I expected him to, because he is my friend and to a certain extent like me – and enthusiastically says my idea of watching anime, eating fries and drinking beer is great. Twenty minutes later he's at my door.  


“To be honest, I'm really glad to escape home for an evening”, he tells me. “Sometimes it can be really annoying to live with your parents, even though you don't see them because you don't leave your room. Just knowing they're there and you can't just do whatever you want. I think I'm going to move out in a while.”  


“I know exactly what you mean”, I say, handing him a bottle of beer. “Moving out was one of the few decisions in my life I don't regret.”  


“So, everything okay?”  


“What? Why?”  


“You never ask me to hang out”, he states matter-of-factly.  


“Can't I just want to spend time with my friend?”, I say and mumble something incoherent about how okay everything is while putting the DVD into the player.  


“Naruto, really? If I didn't know you better I'd think you don't know anything about anime at all and are just a fake fan”, he teases.  


“Hey”, I protest. “I just felt like watching it. Nostalgia, you know.”  


We watch for fifteen minutes, sharing a bowl of fries in peaceful silence. With his eyes still fixed on the screen, he asks, “So what's really going on? Don't you try to tell me everything is okay.”  


Why is he so goddamn good at reading me? “No, it's not”, I admit. “But not really anything specific. I was just feeling like shit and, you know, those thoughts. That I'm a worthless piece of shit and all." I try to make it sound funny when it's really not. "Don't worry about that though, I have that regularly and I'm still alive. And then Phil -” Fuck. I bite my lip, hoping he didn't hear it. 

“Whatever. That's it.”  


“Phil? Is that the guy you're seeing?”, he asks, sounding intrigued but not particularly affected. Why would he be, though? He probably doesn't know our teacher's first name and even if he did, he wouldn't think of him when I just mention the first name. I relax. No need to worry.  


“Yes, that's him.”  


“Didn't you say I know him? I don't know a Phil”, he says, frowning. Well, shit. Maybe I do need to worry.  


“You probably don't even remember his name, just a fleeting acquintance or something”, I rush out. Not my best lie.  


He keeps frowning, but doesn't investigate further. “What did he do, anyway?”  


“It's just that we wanted to meet today but then he said he couldn't come because he was sick and I started thinking that maybe he just said that to get rid of me... it's stupid, I know”, I sigh.  


“I wouldn't say stupid but it... doesn't make a lot of sense”, PJ says. “He's probably really just sick. There's a nasty cold going around at the moment.”  


“You're right.” I smile at him. “You know what, sometimes I'm really glad to have you.”  


“That's so gay”, he responds, and we burst into a fit of laughter.

###

On Monday, Phil's voice is husky and hoarse, which confirms what I actually already knew – he really was ill. When I'm packing my things after the lesson, he meets my eyes and mouths “Good luck later”. I give him a small smile.  


“What was that about?”, Louise frowns at me.  


“What?”, I ask irritably.  


“He said something to you and you smiled. Mr Lester, I mean.”  


“Oh, would you just shut up about this”, I respond tiredly. “You're imagining things. This is ridiculous and you know it.”  


“Sure”, she scoffs, but I ignore her and walk away towards a different room for my next lesson.  


“Did you know he's gay?”, she calls after me. “Someone saw him in a bar on Friday, being very touchy with some guy.”  


Something heavy seems to drop in my guts at her words. “Firstly...” I turn around. “That doesn't mean he is gay. There are other sexualities besides gay and straight, you know. And secondly, that doesn't change anything, does it? I don't give a fuck about who my teachers fuck. _Bye_.”  


I hurry away. On Friday. At least it wasn't Saturday because that would mean he cancelled meeting me for a date with someone else. But still – he met someone else and probably kissed and fucked him. The mental image of a stranger getting to see him like _that_ makes me shudder. It's not like we ever said we were exclusive, so it can impossibly be called cheating, but it's still painful. Was it just a random bar acquintance or something regular? I bite on my lip until I taste blood.

###

I try not to think about the theatre thing all day, but two hours before, I start panicking. I will mess up, I know it. What was I thinking when I said yes to this? I will probably make a fool of myself in front of a group of people if I try to act on stage. It's been years since I last did this. I probably can't even do anything anymore.  


At five p.m., I consider texting Phil and asking him to tell his friend that I won't be able to attend the theatre group meeting, very sorry, but I pull myself together. Don't show him how weak you are. Be strong. Impress him. Defend the pride that has been hurt by what Louise said.  


What did he want from that guy? Why did he meet him? If he wanted sex, he could just have asked me to meet, and – no. No. I must not think about this right now.  


I choose clothes that make me feel confident, that don't make me stand out but look good. At half past five, my heart is still beating rather fast, but I'm in control. I can do this. They're all just hobby actors, too. It's not like they're professionals.  


The building the address directs me to is plain and unimpressive, made of grey bricks, looking more like a family home than a theatre building. The name next to the doorbell – Harris – also suggests this. Maybe they're meeting in the basement of a member's house. That would mean they're even less professional than I assumed.  


A man in his fifties opens the door and gives me a warm smile. In a deep, booming voice, he says, “Hello! You must be Dan, right? Phil told me you would come today. Welcome.”  


I just nod and return his smile nervously. He motions for me to follow him. We walk down a staircase into the basement, just like I guessed. A few people are already standing there, chatting and laughing. They seem to have nothing in common – some look like they could still be at high school, some are near sixty, some are wearing casual clothes, some are wearing suits, one is even dressed in a punk style. I look around the room in astonishment. It doesn't contain anything except a few chairs, but the walls are full of pictures, mostly photographs of theatre performances.  


“This is where we meet to rehearse”, the man says. “I'm Adam Harris, by the way. Forgot to introduce myself. Anyway, we were kind of wandering from place to place until a few years ago my wife suddenly decided to leave me with my kids. Though I was pretty sad at first, it turned out well because I had a lot of room I didn't have any use for, so we built this. It's our regular meeting place now.” He notices the others staring at us and cheerfully announces, “Hey guys, this is Dan. He's come to find out what we're like and maybe join the group.”  


My cheeks start burning as they all look at me. Great qualification for someone who is supposed to be on stage. “Hello”, I say, quietly.  


“Don't worry”, Adam tells the group. “I'm sure he'll become less shy after a while.”  


Some laugh, some smile, and the attention leaves me again like a spotlight that has realised the subject it's illuminating isn't interesting enough to deserve the light.  


I decide to sit down on one of the chairs while they start the rehearsal as soon as everyone has arrived. A girl of about twenty years sits down next to me. She's the punk I noticed earlier – short blue hair, nose and lip piercings, red flannel, leather jacket with buttons, ripped jeans and black boots. “I'm Lena”, she introduces herself. “Adam told me to look after you. Make sure you're alright.” She smiles at me. Is she flirting with me? Is Adam trying to set us up?  


“I'm gay”, I blurt out.  


She looks taken aback. “Uh, yes? Okay?”  


“I'm sorry.” I blush furiously, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. “I just thought you – maybe – nevermind. Oh my god.” Already managed to embarrass myself in the first ten minutes. Well done, Dan.  


“It's okay, I wasn't trying to hit on you.” She leans towards me, eyes widened like she's about to tell me a secret and stage whispers, “I'm gay too.”  


“Really?”, I ask disbelievingly.  


“Really!”, she confirms, eyes sparkling. We start laughing. “Many theatre people are, for some reason I don't know. I'd say like two out of five in here. They're also all very accepting, don't worry.”  


“I wasn't worried about that”, I say and focus on the others again. There is no real stage, but a part of the room is bordered by yellow tape on the floor and seems to be the substitute for it. They have finished their warm-up exercises and start practising a scene of the play.  


I know the words they're saying. I must have read the play one time... but no, I remember _saying_ the words. I once had to learn them. I try remembering what they're from, until - “Hamlet”, I say out loud.  


Lena looks at me. “Yes, right. They're not very original. Everybody knows it, you probably had to read it in school.”  


“No”, I say, “Well. Yes, but we also played it in our school's drama club.”  


Her expression brightens. “Oh, that's great! So you can already participate now! Who were you?”  


“I was Hamlet, but I can't -”  


“Guys”, she calls out. “Dan once played Hamlet, let him do it now.”  


The others nod in agreement. “Good idea. If you want to try, go ahead”, someone says. The man on the “stage” leaves, but not without confirmation that it's “Just for now. I'll still play the role in the end, right?”  


I make a weak attempt at protesting, but give in under the watchful eyes of the other actors. Self-consciously, I walk through the room. One of them hands me the script. I try to focus on the black signs, but they seem to blur as the hands holding it start trembling. Fuck.  


I clear my throat and cross the yellow tape line.  


“Let's start the scene again”, somebody says. “Act one, scene two.”  


At the beginning of the scene, I don't have a lot to say so I just stand around a little awkwardly while the others are talking. Then, however, Hamlet has a monologue, about the lack of sense in life since his father's death. I remember this part because I used to love it. Reading from the script, I say the first few lines, but then I stop looking at it because I still know every word by heart, and finally, it happens, the one thing I have always loved most about acting. I stop being Dan and become someone else, become Hamlet. I stop thinking about the eyes watching me, my hands stop shaking as I mourn the death of my own father.  


When the scene is over, I leave the stage again, a smile forming on my face. I fall onto the chair next to Lena who has been watching us.  


“Wow”, she says. “You're lots better than I would have guessed.”  


“Um. Thanks.”  


“No, really. You kind of seem too introverted to be a good actor... but then again, I know a few amazing actors who are pretty shy off stage. I mean you're not professional, but you're actually good, especially with a bit of training. How do you do that?”, she asks.  


“Do what?”  


“You looked all anxious before you went on stage but then it just... stopped. Most people I know don't get over stage fright that easily.”  


“I was anxious. Hamlet wasn't”, I simply say.  


She grins at me. “You'll become really great, believe me. Stay here.”  


My heart seems to expand by a fraction. I grin back at her. “Maybe I will.”


	8. Some Things Are Worth The Risk

### 8: Some Things Are Worth The Risk

“I'm glad you came”, Lena shouts over the bad music playing in the club and the voices of countless people. She raises her glass at me. It contains some sort of very colourful drink, and I don't think it's her first. She grabs her girlfriend by the hand and drags her onto the dancefloor.  


When Lena invited me to go out with her and some friends, I didn't think she meant hanging out with most of the local LGBT+ group at our town's gay bar, but here I am.  


The small, curly-haired boy who introduced himself as Troye gives me a smile that contains an invitation to follow their example and dance together. I pretend I don't notice what he means and smile back casually. He has been trying to flirt with me since I arrived, but I am not in the mood. He is cute, has an incredibly pretty face, but at the moment I prefer a different type. More masculine, with straight black hair, blue eyes...  


On the dancefloor, I spot Lena and her girlfriend whose name I don't know making out shamelessly. They make an odd couple – Lena with her alternative edgy style and the other girl, a classic beauty with long blonde hair and wearing pastel colours. They obviously adore each other though.  


A man is watching them with a rather greedy expression. Possibly a straight man who visited the gay club in the hopes of seeing some lesbian action as jerk-off material. Appalled, I shudder. 

“I'm going to the bathroom”, I inform Troye. He just nods and smiles. Probably didn't even understand me over the noise.  


In the bathroom, I lean on one of the sinks and stare at my face in the mirror. My head feels dizzy. I'm not used to alcohol. From one of the cubicles, I hear loud moans and bangs. Two men, judging by the voices. Christ, does it have to be here, in a public bathroom?  


This weekend, Phil said he couldn't meet me because it's his mother's sixtieth birthday and he'll be at his old home from Friday to Saturday. He told me he would probably text me in order to not die of boredom. I pull out my phone. No new messages.

[00:12] Dan: hey phil im in a gay club there are people fucking in a toilet and i miss you  
[00:14] Phil: Are you drunk?  
[00:16] Phil: Dan? Are you okay??  
[00:19] Phil: Please answer, are you okay  
[00:20] Dan: hi yes everything ok im a little drunk and tired how are you  
[00:23] Phil: Very bored and hoping the old ladies will have to go to bed soon  
[00:25] Dan: id like to go to bed with you  
[00:26] Phil: Dan please don't drink again  
[00:27] Dan: im not that drunk and i mean it its been two weeks

I wait, but he doesn't respond. After five minutes, I add:

[00:32] Dan: this guy is trying to hit on me he's cute and i could fuck him if i wanted to  
[00:35] Phil: I'm not going to stop you

That hurts. I want him to be jealous, I want him to want me just to himself. He is the reason I can't return Troye's attempts at flirting. It would feel wrong because Phil is the one who feels right. I put my phone back into my pocket and realise I have spent almost half an hour in the bathroom. If someone has noticed, they will surely be worried.  
I find them sitting at a table.  


“Where were you, Dan?”, Lena asks worriedly. “Troye says you went to the bathroom ages ago and didn't come back. Are you alright?”  


“I was in the bathroom and I'm not feeling too well, I think I'll go home”, I say, making my voice sound as tired as possible. I'm not lying – I am not feeling well, mentally. Let them believe it's something physical.  


“Get well soon”, someone says. “Do you need a ride home?”  


“No, no, you're all drunk, I'll take the subway.” I leave as fast as I can without being impolite.  


On the train, I look at my phone again.  


[00:40] Phil: Please text me when you're safe at home

###

Seeing him in class on Monday is torturing since it's been more than two weeks I've had the chance of being closer to him than two meters' distance. When I meet his eyes for a second while he is talking, I give him a look as intense as I can, biting my lip. I try to put everything in that look – how I just want him to kiss me right now, make out with me, how I miss his stupid skin and his fucking hands on my body and the things he can do to me. His eyes widen ever so slightly, not visible to anyone else, but enough to tell me he got the message.  


To make it absolutely clear and force him to react, I type a message into my phone, hidden under the table.  


[09:14] Dan: you have NO idea how much I want you right now.  


It may not be the smoothest or most eloquent approach, but it's the plain truth.  


In the first break, he responds  
[09:32] Phil: Actually I do have an idea because same, but we're at school please stop saying that  


I imagine him in the teachers' room, reading my message and trying to hide his phone from possible curious glances, occasionally looking up nervously while typing. Good.  


[09:24] Dan: you must have the key to some empty room  


[09:25] Phil: DAN  


I can practically hear him whine my name, half exasperated and half fucking turned on. I smirk to myself. I've almost got him right where I want him.  


[09:26] Dan: come on, the risk is not that big. just think of what we could do  


I proceed to describe some of those things in vivid detail until he finally gives in, just as the bell rings for the next period.  


[09:30] Phil: I hate you goddamn tease  
[09:31] Phil: come to room 93 in the lunch break

###

I knock at the door. He opens, recognises me and immediately grabs my wrist to pull me into the room. Impatiently, he turns the key in the lock, twice, and slams me against the wall, attacking my mouth with his.  


“Don't you ever fucking tease me like this again”, he growls against my lips, voice deep and dangerous.  


“I'm sorry”, I mumble, but sorry is the last thing I'm feeling right now.  


“I know you're not. Fuck, it's not like I didn't want this too.”  


We stumble across the room, lips still locked, tongues battling fiercely, hands everywhere. He presses my hips against a desk and continues kissing me, tugging slightly at my hair. I dig my nails into his clothed back in response. He lifts me up to sit on the desk and I wrap my legs around his hips. We're both already hard, needless to say.  


Our pants are blocking our contact, need to get them out of the way, quickly. I pull his down to his knees and manage to get mine down to my ankles, enough to free the way. Everything is rushed, impatient.  


For a moment, we have to stop because “lube? We need something” and “Hand lotion in my bag”, I gasp, and moments later he is forcing himself inside me, not even bothering with fingers first. I can take it, but I cry out in surprise and shock.  


“Quiet”, he hisses, putting one hand over my mouth to muffle my moans, and somehow it's turning me on even more, the risk, and I gasp and moan against his hands as he is fucking me, hard and quick, I arch my back and push my hips forward and -  


Someone is knocking at the door. “Sorry, is somebody in here?”, a voice says.  


Phil stares at me, every last drop of colour draining from his face. “Shit.”  


We both pull up our pants as quickly as possible, I really need to start wearing jeans that aren't this tight, and he walks over to the door to open it. “I was just talking to my student. He needs to... retake a test”, he says.  


The caretaker enters. “Oh, I'm sorry to disturb. I was told to check on the heating in this room because someone reported it was broken, but I can come back later.”  


It must be impossible for her not to notice it – my flushed cheeks, our sweaty, messed up hair, the locked door, maybe even the smell in the air or something she heard when she was standing outside the door. She chooses not to say anything. “Well, bye then.” With one last awkward look, she is gone.  


“Do you think she knows?”, Phil asks me, looking panicked.  


I almost laugh desperately. “It was obvious, wasn't it? She would be very stupid not to know.”  


“Oh, fuck. Fuck.” He buries his face in his hands.  


“Well, that killed my boner”, I state matter-of-factly.  


“Seriously?” He laughs incredulously. “That's your problem right now?”  


“Well, no”, I say. “Sorry for teasing you into doing this. I know you didn't want.. it's my fault, I'm so sorry.”  


“I'm guilty as well”, he firmly says.  


“But I mean, why would she report it?” I try to make the situation a little better. “It's not like she hates you or me or anything like that. And even if she did, there is no proof. We could just have been... discussing your grade in here. As you said. She can't prove anything.”  


“That's true”, he says, hesitantly. “Oh, well. I guess we can't do anything right now, can we?”  


“Right.” I give him a small smile. “Sorry.”  


“It's not your fault. I gave in. I shouldn't have...” He doesn't look at me. “I suppose it's best if we leave the room now.”  


I nod and follow him outside.


	9. Messes

### 9: Messes

On Friday morning, I pass Phil in the hallway as he's talking to one of the teachers. She is obviously flirting, playing with her hair and occasionally giving him a dazzling smile. She is young and very pretty – especially compared to the other teachers at school – and she knows it. I feel a sharp stab of jealousy when he laughs out loud while they are talking.  
Don't have the right to be jealous.  


I try to exchange a look with him while walking past them, but he doesn't seem to notice me at all.

###

“Is everything alright?”, I ask him in the evening, sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around my back.  


“What do you mean?” He frowns.  


“I mean.. um, like.... with... me. Us. Are you... annoyed by me or something?”, I clarify cautiously.  


“Why would I be?” He leans in again to kiss me again, but I press my lips together and turn my head. “Oh, come on, Dan. I told you not to be such a tease.”  


“I'm not. I just wanted to know – I mean, we didn't see each other for the last two weekends.”  


“I didn't do that on purpose!”, he exclaims. “Do you really think so? First I had a cold and was shaking, freezing and I was _really_ not in the mood for anything, and then I had to drive four hours to my parents' home for my mother's birthday.” His voice softens. “Believe me, I'd rather have spent the day with you than her dozens of elderly friends.” He attempts to bring me closer again but I refuse. “What? You're still not convinced?”  


“I don't know”, I mumble. “It's just that – on that Friday two weeks ago, someone saw you in a bar with some guy and today you were flirting with this teacher and -”  


“I wasn't flirting with her, and that guy was someone I met, he talked to me and he was attractive so I saw no reason not to... and it doesn't have anything to do with you, right?” I don't answer, and I don't look at him. “Dan, are you _jealous_?”, he demands, staring at me in shock.  


“So what if I am?”, I say, wishing I could hide the blush rising to my cheeks.  


“But why? We never said we.... we aren't dating or anything... why are you jealous?”  


I avoid his gaze, muttering something inaudible.  


“What did you say?”  


“Because I'm in love with you. And I thought you.. maybe...” I swallow hard.  


“ _What_?”  


“Nothing, just... just ignore me”, I say desperately.  


He pushes me off his lap and stands up, pacing up and down the living room. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, I should have known...”, he hisses to himself. “I should've made clear... What on earth made you think that I.. might be in love with you too?”  


The first date. The morning after, when we woke up together. The small, innocent kisses, watching TV together, sharing food, talking for hours, his worried texts... I blink rapidly to fight back tears. “I just felt like you.. cared about me”, I whisper.  


“But of course I do, just not... that way!”  


“Can we just forget this?”, I plead. “Forget I ever said it.”  


“I think it's better if we stop this”, he says without looking at me. “Stop meeting. It's the best for you.”  


Oh, so now he knows what's best for me? “Fine”, I snap, turn around and slam the door on my way out.  


In the car, I can't hold back the tears anymore. I sit in silence, gaze fixed on the front window without actually seeing anything. Inhale. Shuddery exhale.  


So I was wrong all the time. I was never more than an affair to him, just another pretty boy. I can't believe I let myself fall in love with him when he never, never returned my feelings, the stupid, the... but it's not true. That's the worst part, I can't even hate him for it. He never did anything wrong, it was just silly, silly me, expecting more than he was able to give. It's my own fault.  


After some time, I take my phone out of my pocket. I focus on breathing normally and force out the words, “Lena? It's me, Dan. Are you free tonight? I need to get drunk.”

###

The early spring sun is warming my face as I wake up. I feel someone stir beside me and I turn around with a smile. “Good morning, Ph-”  


But the brown locks on the pillow aren't his and everything comes crushing back down on me, accompanied by a throbbing headache. Last night, our fight, “I think it's best if we stop this, stop meeting”, me getting drunk in the same bar as last week with the same people,and... I look at the boy lying next to me again.  


Troye is still sleeping, breathing softly and evenly through slightly parted lips. Memories form in my head, blurred images I can't fully grasp. I see him, on his hands and knees, me behind him, inside him, eyes closed to picture someone else instead of the boy in front of me. Fuck. I'll never drink alcohol again.  


I slowly climb out of the bed, careful not to wake him up, grab a pair of boxers lying on the floor and stagger into the kitchen. I need something to soothe the pain in my head and maybe a coffee. Because my eyes are still half-closed to block out the light that makes my head burn, I run into someone standing at the coffee machine.  


I blink. “What the hell are you doing here?”  


Oh, hi, good morning”, Lena says brightly. “I'm not sure but I think I drove you here because you didn't want to drive drunk and I must have fallen asleep on the couch. Can you tell me how this thing works?” She points at the machine.  


“Does that mean _you_ were drunk and drove? And I let you drive my car?”, I ask, aghast.  


“I wasn't that drunk”, she protests and then admits, “Okay, yes, I was, but we arrived without accident and the car is still whole, so no use worrying about it now.”  


I groan, massaging my temples with my fingertips. “Christ, what happened last night? And how much did I drink?”  


“You called me and we went to the bar again. You drank quite a lot and seemed pretty upset, but said you didn't want to talk about it...” She gives me a hopeful glance and I cut her off before she can ask.  


“I still don't want to talk about it.”  


“Oh”, she says, looking a little disappointed. “Well, and then we went here, you were making out with Troye and I think you guys fucked, but I don't know since I was asleep or maybe passed out on the couch.”  


“We did”, I confirm. “I remember that part. Shit. Did he initiate it or was it me?”  


“I think he started it, but you weren't exactly reluctant”, she smirks.  


“Oh, fuck. I'll never drink alcohol again, believe me.”  


“Of course”, she says, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, I think the sleeping beauty has awoken.”  


True enough, I hear steps in the bedroom and a moment later, a very sleepy-looking Troye has entered my kitchen that suddenly seems even smaller than usual. Gratefully I notice he is wearing pants, at least. “Morning”, he yawns.  


“Can I use your shower, Dan?”, Lena asks me, giving me a not exactly subtle meaningful sideglance. “I'll leave you two alone.” Not subtle at all.  


“Of course”, I say, and then she is gone and we're alone in the kitchen. I take a sip from my cup of coffee to avoid looking at him and immediately burn my tongue.  


After moments of uncomfortable silence, I blurt out, “Look, I'm sorry, I was drunk and I just... don't want you thinking this means more than it does. I was drunk and didn't really know what I was doing and...”  


“It's alright”, he says with a tired smile. I'm not sure if it's my imagination, but his eyes look a little sad. “I should have known it. You said a different name when you... you know.” He blushes and looks at the table like it's the most interesting thing he has ever seen.  


Really? I had sex with this boy and he is to embarrassed to say “come”? But then I realise what he has just told me and sigh. I don't need to ask which name I said.  


“I'm sorry”, I say honestly. “I didn't mean to hurt you or anything. Really.”  


“I'm not hurt.” He smiles again, and maybe the tiny bit of heartbreak his eyes show is really just in my head.

###

In the evening, I call Louise to tell her I won't be at school tomorrow because I am sick. It's probably a lie because my headache and nausea have almost fully disappeared, but I just don't feel up for seeing Phil again. I know I won't be able to postpone meeting him forever, but I'll take this one day. She says she will stop by my flat in the afternoon to bring me my homework. I am too tired to protest and there isn't much I could say. It's a nice offer. I can't say I don't want to see her right now and I won't do the homework anyway.  


I'm lying in bed with my laptop, wearing pajamas and drinking a cup of tea when she rings the doorbell. For a second, I consider not answering, but I'm too British to be that impolite.  


Louise enters, bringing some fresh spring air from the outside into my dark apartment. With a warm smile she says, “Hey, I hope your getting better!”  


I try to look as sick as I can, which is not exactly hard because I am feeling like shit, and say, “Yeah, well, a little better. With a good night of sleep I'll probably be back at school tomorrow.”  


“Good!” She digs through her purse and hands me a few pieces of paper. “Here, that's what we got and on one of them I wrote down the homework for the other subjects we have together.”  


“That's nice of you. Thanks”, I say, smiling awkwardly.  


She closes her purse again and conversationally asks, “So, how was it with Phil on Friday?”  


I freeze. “I have no idea what you're talking about”, I say automatically.  


“Oh please”, she snorts. “Stop lying to me, Dan.”  


“I'm not -”, I begin without really knowing what I want to say. Did she just visit me to ask that question?  


“I just happened to drive through that part of town and saw your car parking outside some house, so naturally, I stopped and looked who lives in it, and I can't say I was surprised when I read the name Lester.” She smirks, self-satisfied.  


“It's not what you think-” I fall silent. There's nothing I can say to make the situation better.  


“Oh, just stop. I knew it all along, ever since I saw you wearing his shirt”, she sneers. “Just tell me – how long has this been going on? From the very beginning? Even before he was our teacher? And why did you let me make a fool of myself while I was trying to impress him?”  


“There is nothing going on”, I say tiredly. It's the truth now.  


“The thing that pisses me off most”, she says, “is that you decided to lie to me and do it all behind my back. I wouldn't have told anyone. I thought we were friends, Dan.”  


“I'm not lying. There is nothing going on. Not anymore.”  


For a split second she looks concerned, but then her eyes start glistening maliciously. “Don't tell me you broke up.”  


“Please, just leave me alone, Louise”, I plead weakly.  


“Well then, I will”, she says and opens the door. Turning around again, she continues, “I suppose you know I will have to report that. It's illegal. We can't have teachers who have relationships with students, am I right?” Before I can react, she has closed the door behind herself. I stare at it in shock, thoughts racing. She can't. She won't. As she said, we are friends. Were. She seemed angry enough to do it. Can she prove it? Probably not, but there's the caretaker who saw us too... If Louise decides to report it, there will be another person to validate it.  


We're fucked.


	10. Secrets We're Not Proud Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_trigger warning for this chapter_ : rape mention**

### 10: Secrets We're Not Proud Of

I go to the theatre practice later that day. Someone from school might see me and wonder why I'm here but I couldn't be there in the morning, but I have run out of fucks to give about that kind of minor, irrelevant thing. I don't care what they think about me any more. 

Everyone greets me happily, appatently glad about my presence. They all know my name already. After some time of standing around and talking about pleasant nonsense, we start. Since today is the third time I am here and the second time I am really participating, I already know the introduction part. At the beginning I felt ridiculous during the warm-ups, but I got used to it quickly, especially because no one seems to be self-conscious at all, weird movements and shouted words and rhythmic claps appearing completely natural. 

One exercise consists of walking around the room until the instructor tells us to stop and act out a specific emotion towards the person standing closest to us, like hate or love, but no touching is allowed. It's a classic exercise I remember from my high school days. I bump into Lena just when Adam calls out, “Love!” For the next twenty seconds, we turn into passionate lovers, giving each other looks of burning desire and moving, almost dancing, in unison without even touching each other. I have no doubt she is imagining her girlfriend. I'm thinking about someone else too, someone with skin paler and hair darker than hers, someone, someone I actually don't want to think about because it still hurts. 

When the warm-up is finished and we're getting ready for rehearsing our actual play, a woman in her late forties whose name I have forgotten approaches us and asks, “Not to be intrusive, but are you two dating?” 

Lena and I exchange a glance and break into a fit laughter. The woman looks a bit bewildered. “That's a no, I suppose?” 

“Yes”, I answer. “ I mean, no we're not dating. Definitely not. We're just friends.” 

“Oh”, she says and smiles. “Because you looked very in love. That means you're good actors, both of you.” 

“It's weird”, I tell Lena when she has left us again. “We met two weeks ago and I already say you're my friend. I feel like I've know you for years, actually. Even though I don't really know anything about you. Your life and all.” 

“Spending an evening drinking, sleeping in the same flat and waking up hungover together brings you pretty close”, she says matter-of-factly. 

“That's probably true. Never had that kind of friendship with anyone, though.” 

“Really?” She stares at me incredulously. “Most of my friendships start like this, to be honest. What kind of friendship do you have, then?” 

“The someone-I-met-at-school kind. Or internet friends. I'm the type for internet friendships because they work without leaving the house”, I confess. 

“Your life must be _so_ boring.” 

“Hey!” I punch her softly in the arm. 

“I'm just teasing, dumbass”, she laughs. “Time for you to join that stage. Laertes is sick today, you can be the substitute.” 

###

When they're practising a scene Laertes doesn't appear in, I sit down next to Lena who has been watching all the time and occasionally throwing in suggestions or improvements. 

“Why don't you ever do anything but watch and complain?”, I ask her. 

“What? Wait a second.” She frowns towards the stage and suddenly shouts, “Hamlet! You're totally exaggerating. You're sad, you're maybe even depressed, and definitely not making _windmill movements_ with your arms while talking.” The guy who plays Hamlet gives her a death glare but grudgingly obeys. She turns towards me and asks, “What were you saying?” 

“I wanted to know why you're never on stage but always shouting things at the actors. And why do they listen to you?” She is just a girl my age, after all, and most adults tend to ignore the opinions of younger people. 

“Well, I'm sort of the only professional around here”, she explains. “They're all just hobby actors who have never seen a professional training and I've been attending theatre school for a few years, um, about two, I think. So Dad – I mean Adam asked me to help the group with my advice and all. I only go on stage as a replacement when someone is missing.” 

“Wait, what? Adam is your dad?” I try to bring the girl sitting in front of me together with the middle-aged, almost bald man. The eyes, maybe, and the shape of their lips could be the same. But still, I never would have guessed it. 

“Yeah, I actually live at my mom's house but she annoys the shit out of me so I spend more time here than there.” 

“And you go to theatre school? So you're going to be a professional actor? That's so cool.” 

“Yes. Or at least I hope so. The school I go to is pretty exclusive and alumni usually have good opportunities to get a job. Though, to be quite honest, I don't want to be just an actor...” She averts her eyes, smiling awkwardly. “Don't judge me. I really love musicals.” 

“Can you sing?”, I ask. Her voice – rather deep for a girl and sort of smoky – seems well-fitted for singing to me. 

“I don't know. I mean, I guess I can because I've been training it since I was ten or something. And most people tell me I'm good. I don't know.” She blushes. This must be the first time I've seen her embarrassed by something. She quickly changes the subject. “So what do you do? School, university, anything?” 

I grimace and tell her about studying law at university and how much I hate it. 

“But why do you do it if you hate it?”, she asks, confused. 

It reminds me of him when he asked a similar question. I shake my head slightly to get those thoughts out of my mind. Not now. “I gave in to social pressure”, I respond with a crooked smile. 

“Actually I wanted to be an actor but everyone told me not to do that. To do something... _sensible_. So I ended up unhappy and with a future perspective I hate. And... someone... told me to follow my dreams and sent me here.” 

“Someone? Do you mean Phil?” 

I flinch at her mention of the name. “Yes. I didn't know you know him.” 

“Friend of the family”, she says casually. “But that's not the point right now, what I wanted to say – if you still want to be an actor and go to theatre school and all, why don't you just apply for my school? You'd have to do an entrance examination before the summer break if you want to get in for the next year. In May, I think.” 

“I don't know.... I mean, that would be great, of course”, I say uncertainly. “But... I don't think I would be good enough. Didn't you say it was an exclusive school?” 

“It is, but I've seen you act and honestly, you're talented as fuck. And I wouldn't just say thatif I didn't mean it. With a little training, you'll be one of the best candidates there, trust me.” 

“Really?” I would never have thought I was talented... well, people used to tell me back in the high school drama club, but I assumed they were just being polite. Lena is not the type for that, however, she is honest. And she has experience. 

She gives me a convincing grin. “Really.” 

###

I don't know how she manages to coax the truth out of me. Maybe it's because, despite my reluctancy to do so, I still had the subconscious desire to talk to someone about everything, maybe it's because her honesty and openness make me want to open up to her too. Anyway, we end up sitting in the back of my car while I recount to her the entire story of me and Phil, only leaving out some of the more intimate details. 

To my own surprise, I don't tear up at all. My voice is flat and empty the entire time, resembling the hollow feeling in my chest. 

“And after he crushed my hopes and said we shouldn't meet again, this girl from my school made everything even worse by telling me that she knows about us and threatening to report it”, I finish. “It looked like she was serious. So I have no idea what to do now. No idea at all.” 

Lena, who has been listening intently all the time without saying a word, straightens up and looks at me. “Just to make this clear”, she wonders, “ _you_ had a secret affair with your _teacher_? Wow.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I would never have thought that of you.” 

“To be honest, I wouldn't have either”, I say truthfully. “I used to care a lot about rules and society and what others think of me. Always stayed in my lane, never took a risk. But he came along and made me different, somehow. First I took the risk because he was worth it, and then I slowly realised I had stopped caring about what people think. I have become more... reckless, I'd say. More willing to be different follow the others and be myself.” 

“Now you're my friend that will get even worse, trust me. People tend to become more daring around me”, she remarks. 

“That's actually a great quality”, I say. “It means you make them more confident, which results in them feeling better. And that means you are truly a blessing.” I smile at her playfully. 

“Oh, you're flattering me.” She pretends to be flustered, turning her face away from me in mock modesty. 

I laugh. “Anyway, back to suffering. Where was I? He made me different and then just... threw me away. Okay, that might be a little overdramatic, but it's what I feel like. It's an awkward feeling to know that he never wanted me as a person, just... you know, just to fuck me, while I wanted more. Oh god, and he knows it. Knows that I was... am in love with him. I should never have mentioned it.” I lean back with my eyes closed and exhale slowly. “Why do I fuck everything up?” 

“You don't, believe me.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “You're a great person.” 

“Thanks”, I say through gritted teeth. “Do you also have any magic advice what to do about Louise? The one who threatened me, I mean.” 

“First of all...” She sighs. “You probably don't want to do this, but you need to call Phil and tell him about it. He has the right to know.” 

“You're right, I really don't want to. Don't know if I can stand talking to him right now.” Even though she is right, of course. 

“You have to”, she insists. “Just do it now, get over with it. I'll stay, if you want me to. For the mental support.” 

I smile at her gratefully. “That would be very nice.” 

I scroll through the contacts in my phone until I get to his name. I remember when I first saved it and texted him, so excited, so full of hopes and expectations, not realising that they were all in vain. “Fuck”, I laugh desperately. “I don't think I can -” 

“You can and you will”, she orders, suddenly stern, and reaches out to touch the screen. 

“No, no, don't”, I protest, but it's too late, the phone is already beeping. “Thanks a lot”, I hiss and press the phone to my ear with my trembling, sweating hand. 

“Dan?” The sound of his voice makes my guts twist in a much less pleasant way than before. “I thought we had made clear that -” 

“Yes, yes, you have”, I cut him off. Wouldn't be able to stand him saying it right now. “That's not why I'm calling. We have a problem.” I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the next words. “Louise knows. About... us. And she said she was going to report it.” 

For a moment the phone is completely silent. Then he says, “Fuck. Oh, fuck. Fucking shit. Did she really – do you think she will -?” 

I can't remember ever hearing him curse like that except in bed. He is usually more careful with his language, but I suppose this is an appropriate situation for those words. “I don't know. I really don't. But if she does... I mean, she can't prove it, can she? If we both convincingly say it's not true, maybe they won't believe her.” 

“They will believe it if they take a look at my files”, he states. “Oh, fuck, how could this happen? We were so careful, and now... fuck, I'll get fired and I'll never be able to teach again.” 

“Wait, _what_?” What's in his files? What did he do in the past that makes him more suspicious in this case? Did he have an affair with a student before? 

“I – it doesn't matter right now, okay?” 

“No. No, it does matter. Tell me. Did you rape someone or something?” I can't imagine it at all, he wouldn't... but then again, I barely know him, do I? He told me about his past once, and that's all. Lena gasps at my words and stares at me. 

He doesn't respond. “Don't tell me you did”, I say, feeling suddenly nauseous. 

“No, not really, but... it's complicated.” He sighs. “I really don't want to talk about this. Remember when I told you about that guy I was in a relationship with for years?” 

“I remember.” He didn't mention the gender or use any pronouns, though. I wondered about it back then. 

“And I said it came to a nasty ending. Well, that was an understatement. It was... horrible. We had a really, really bad fight and afterwards he went to court and claimed I had raped him on multiple occasions during our relationship. Said I had done things to him without his consent.” 

“Did they believe him?”, I ask. I don't know if I want to hear the answer to the next question but I ask it anyway. “And was it true?” 

“See, it's complicated because in a relationship you stop explicitly asking for consent, you just assume you have it unless they object. But if they just go with it... fuck, I just didn't stop to think about it. I would never have hurt him on purpose.” He pauses, sounding pained at the memory. “Since we were _faggots_...” He spits out the word, disgusted. “...and they were a little – or a lot - homophobic, they were more ready to believe our twisted relationships involve rape. The case was dismissed because there was no proof, but it was humiliating enough, trust me. Everyone I knew started thinking I was a sick rapist, even some former friends. It was the main reason I left my hometown and moved here. And it's in my file now, of course. So if something like our... affair comes up, they will be more likely to believe it.” 

I remain silent, feeling sympathetic for his past self. Lena gives me a questioning look. I make a hand motion to convey “I'll tell you later”. 

“I'm sorry”, I finally say. “I had no idea.” 

“Of course you didn't, it's not like I walk around boasting about it.” He laughs helplessly. “I'd rather just forget it all forever. And now this, oh god. I really, _really_ don't want to go through a process like that again. What can we do about Louise?” 

“I have no idea”, I say honestly. “I'll talk to her tomorrow. Try to talk her out of reporting it. I don't know. Just hope she won't.” 

“Just hope”, he repeats, the two syllables sounding more lost than anything I have ever heard him say.


	11. Falling Action

### 11: Falling Action

It takes me five periods to work up the courage to finally talk to Louise. She has been ignoring me all day, demonstratively choosing not to sit next to me in the lessons and spending the breaks alone. In lunch break, I sit at a table with PJ, eating in silence when she approaches us. It looks like she is about to pass us without looking at me, but I force myself to call out, “Hey, Louise!” 

She turns her head when she hears her name. Upon seeing me, she hesitates, torn between ignoring me and listening to what I have to tell her. She seems to decide that it's too late to pretend she didn't hear me and coldly says, “Hello, Dan.” With a slightly warmer expression, “Hey, PJ.” 

“Can we talk?”, I suggest tentatively. 

“Sure.” She smiles coolly and sits down on one of the free chairs at the table. 

“No, I mean... somewhere else. Alone”, I explain. 

“Oh, but there is no one around except PJ. The others won't even hear us. Or do you want to say he doesn't know? Another friend you don't trust?” 

I swear internally and say, “No, I mean, I didn't... it's not because I don't trust you.” 

My words just seem to make it worse. 

“Of course”, she scoffs. 

PJ looks at the two of us, clearly confused. “What don't I know?” 

“About Dan's dirty little secrets”, she says sweetly. “Why don't you tell him, Dan?” 

“I really don't...”, I begin, but she gives me a warning look. I realise I'm not in the position to object to what she says right now. “I had a... thing... sort of an affair... with our teacher.” 

“What?” He stares at me in disbelief. “Wow, I never would've thought you... who?” 

“Phil – I mean Mr Lester.” The name still burns painfully on my lips. “You're not in the class he teaches, but you've probably seen him.” 

“Oh, so this is why you couldn't tell me who it was”, he says. “You said I knew him, but you couldn't say who it was. Not a vampire, then.” 

“So you still knew more than I did”, Louise says bitterly. “Apparently I'm just not trustworthy.” 

“Wait, how do you know now, then? If he didn't tell you?”, PJ asks. 

“She found out”, I answer. “Found out and threatened to report it. Which would mean I will get expelled and he will lose his job.” 

“Would you really do that?” PJ gives her an incredulous look. 

“As far as I'm concerned, we're not friends anymore”, she says with the same cold smile. “Or to be more accurate, I now know we never were, since you lied to me all the time. So, yes, why wouldn't I?” 

“Come on, Louise”, I plead. “I'm really sorry, believe me...” 

“Sorry I found out. Not sorry you lied to me”, she states, and I can't protest because it's true. 

“If you want money or something -” 

“Money? Do I look like I'm the kind of person to blackmail someone for money?”, she snorts. “Besides, I definitely have enough.” Another truth. Her parents must be rich, judging from her expensive clothes and accessories. 

“What do you want, then?”, I demand desperately. 

“You could do me a favour.” All of a sudden, she looks smaller and not as intimidating as the second before. “If you laugh at me now, I swear I will not hesitate to go straight to the principal to report your little affair.” 

“I won't laugh”, I promise impatiently. “What is it?” 

She intently looks down at the table to avoid my eyes. “I... you could... take me with you when you spend time with your friends.” 

“ _What_?” That's supposed to be all? What is she playing at? 

“I don't really have any friends”, she says defensively. “And I don't know how to meet new people and make them like me and... you know what's going to happen if you say no”, she adds, suddenly threatening again. 

I almost laugh with pure relief, but manage to hold it back in the last second. I toy with the thought of suggesting that maybe, if she didn't threaten the only people who like her with destroying their life, she would be better at making friends, but I know I can't say it. PJ is staring at her in utter confusion. 

“That's all?”, I make sure. 

“Yes”, she says. “And don't you dare tell them about why you brought me. You're going to say I'm one of your friends at school and you wanted me to meet them.” 

I consider hitting myself in the face to confirm that I am not dreaming. This is certainly anticlimatic. If my life was following the structure of a classic tragedy, this would be the part of falling action, after the climax and before the catastrophe in the end. But the catastrophe has already happened, hasn't it? So maybe it isn't a tragedy after all and will have a happy ending, the hero gets the man and everyone is content... but no, my life is not a drama and I am surely no hero. 

“The only problem is that I don't really have something like a group of friends”, I say. “I mean, I've been spending a lot of time with Lena's friends recently... Lena is the one from theatre, I think I mentioned her. But her friends are more like... well, the local gays. I'm sure they'll accept you and be nice to you, but... if it's weird to you...” 

“ Unless I want to have sex with someone I don't care about their sexuality”, she says. I am impressed how open-minded that sounds, until she adds, “And long as the lesbians know I don't like girls so they don't try to hit on me.” 

“Of course”, I sigh. I'll have to call Lena later and warn her I'll bring someone along the next time we meet. 

###

Trying to integrate Louise with the group is going better than I would have thought it was possible. It's the same crowd as usual, including Lena, her girlfriend whose name I know found out – it's Hannah – and Troye, the poor boy, who still looks at me with a bit of hope in his eyes when we talk to each other. Don't have a crush on me, I want to tell him, I'm sorry. You just aren't my type, only one person is right now. 

The one I can't have. 

I shake my head and focus on the conversation again. A guy called Tyler with violet hair that resembles cotton candy is talking about some movie he saw in the cinema a few days ago. I missed the title but according to what he says, the tailer looked great but the movie itself was a very boring, very heterosexual generic romantic comedy. 

I suppress a laugh because he is like a personification of every gay man cliché. Even the most heteronormative straight people would know about his sexuality after hearing him say two sentences. With me, it's different. I'm so used to hiding in the closet that most straight people and sometimes even queer people are surprised when I tell them the truth. One girl once said I don't look and act gay. I remember thinking how stupid that is. I mean, there are those cases in which it's obvious, but in general gay men just look and act like any other man. Those are just stereotypes. 

Louise doesn't look uncomfortable at all, which surprises me. I guess it's lucky for her we're not meeting in our regular gay bar today but in this new hipster bar someone recommended to Hannah. I marvel at the fact that in the four weeks I've known Lena I have probably been to more bars than in my entire life before. Even though I still prefer the calmness of my home and too much human contact exhausts me, it can actually be fun to spend time with people you like. 

Louise is laughing at Tyler's account despite loving the exact type of romantic movie he is making fun of. It doesn't seem to be a fake laugh, however. He is just funny. She genuinely seems to be feeling well, even though Lena keeps making innuendos directed at her, simply out of spite because I told her what Louise said about lesbians. 

“She's not as bad as I would've thought”, Lena says later when we're sitting in my car, alone. 

“Oh, yeah? Am I allowed to bring her again? Oh, wait, I don't have a choice because if I don't she'll ruin my life and the life of.... you know”, I say, my initial sarcasm fading to gloominess at the last words. 

“Come on, it wasn't even that bad. They actually liked her, I think!” 

“You're right. A miracle. I actually feel sorry for her, to be honest, I think she never really had friends and lacks affection”, I say. “And maybe she had, like, a bad childhood or something. I don't know anything about her parents. Though that would still be no apology for how she behaved.” 

“It's sad”, Lena agrees. “Anyway, I have two things to tell you. Wanted to say it earlier, but forgot. Firstly, Adam told me to ask you if it would be okay for you to play Laertes in the show next week since Martin, that's the one who used to play this role, seems to be ill for a longer time. Something like... I think it was pneumonia. Not life-threatening, though, no need to worry. Anyway. Since you've been playing his role during the last two weeks...” 

“Wait”, I interrupt her. “ _Next week_?” 

“Oh, yes, we have a performance next Sunday. That means in nine days. Nobody told you about that?” I shake my head silently, and she continues, “It's not a big thing since we aren't professionals. Not many people are going to be there. If you don't want to, I'll play him, but I'm sure you would be able to do it.” 

I hesitate. “I'd have to learn the text and all...” 

“You already knew most of it by heart last Monday, didn't you?” 

“Most of it, but...” The prospect of actually going on stage to act in front of an audience scares me. I used to love it, but the last time I did it was years and years ago. 

“It would be great practice, which leads me directly to my second point. If you still want to apply for my school, you'll have to sign up for the auditions some time soon. The deadline is in three weeks or something. They're in May, as I said before.” 

“What will I have to do?”, I ask. 

“For the first part, you can choose what you want to do, something you're familiar with. For the second part, they'll give you something you need to do to see if you can be spontaneous and adjust to new roles. It's all about showing that you're flexible and good in different situations.” 

“Oh, fuck”, I say. “Doesn't sound like I'm good enough for that.” 

“You are”, she reassures me. “I'll prepare you. So are you in for next week?” 

“You know what”, I say slowly. “I think I'll play in that show or whatever it is and if it goes well, I'll send in the application for your school. I mean, it can't hurt to try, can it?” 

“Exactly”, she announces cheerfully. “You'll be great.”


	12. Sweet, Not Lasting

### 12: Sweet, Not Lasting

Over the next weeks, I feel less and less like I'm going to be great. In fact, when Sunday approaches, I feel like cancelling the whole thing. I could do it, I could just say I am sick, and Lena would play my part. She knows every aingle word of the entire drama by heart, anyway. She's a goddamn genius. 

No. No, I'll do this. I take a deep breath, inhale, exhale, calm my racing heart. I am panicking for no reason at all. What's the worst thing that could happen? I could forget my text. Even though my chest constricts at the thought of all those people seeing me fail like this, I know it's a silly concern. I won't forget it because I've been reciting the words about five times every day of the last week, and even if I did, no one would judge me. It happens all the time, even to professionals. No one would hate me for it, except myself. 

Around three in the afternoon I become numb, feeling like I'm just a passenger in my body, watching everything from the outside. I'm not here, this isn't happening, this isn't real. The feeling lingers as I drive to the address someone has given me. I am saying my text over and over until it stops being words and becomes a mantra. The feeling is still there when I arrive and greet everyone with a mechanic smile. Lena is jumping around excitedly, asking if I'm okay. I'm not excited. I'm not real. 

Everything is fine until reality comes crashing down at me roughly ten minutes before I have to enter. I suddenly realise that I am actually about to go on stage and act in front of people – it's a small crowd, maybe a hundred people, but that also makes it even more intimate and therefore dangerous. My heart starts pounding and my breathing gets shallow. “Fuck”, I whisper. 

Lena, who is waiting with the actors backstage to support us and help with the costumes and make-up, turns around immediately. “Are you alright, Dan?” Trembling, I shake my head. “I can't -” 

“You can”, she tells me fiercely. “I' rarely say that to you because I'm bad at compliments, but you're really, really good, even compared to people who have been doing this for years. And you've been practising your part so much during the last week. We both know you can do it.” 

Slightly reassured, I give her a small smile. “Thanks. I really don't know what I would do without you sometimes.” 

They start moving around the scenery, now showing a room in the castle the play is set in, and I know I have to enter. I only have a few sentences in this scene that come out automatically. There are many people on stage, and I awkwardly hide in the shadows until we have to exit. I'm not important. 

The third scene is different. I almost immediately have re-enter, but this time we're not many people, just two. 

I walk onto the brightly lit stage together with Ophelia, who is supposed to be my sister but in reality is thirty years older than me. The spotlights are burning my skin. I suddenly start sweating in my warm costume. I take a deep breath and say my first words without stuttering. 

While Ophelia answers, I make the mistake of taking a look at the audience. 

“For Hamlet and the trifling of his favour”, I say, and then I spot him in the second row. 

Him. 

Fuck, what is he doing here? This is the one thing I never thought of while worrying about tonight. Which is actually strange considering I think of him all the time, but the possibility just didn't occur to me. 

What was I supposed to say next? I stop and swallow. Oh, fuck, fuck, no, this can't be happening. The worst case scenario. 

“Hold it a fashion”, Ophelia whispers, looking at me with wide eyes. 

“Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood”, I repeat gratefully and continue talking about a temporary youthful crush. I tell her that Hamlet's feelings towards her are nothing more than a shallow infatuation, sweet, not lasting, and that she has to be careful not to lose her heart to someone who doesn't really love her. How ironic. Someone should have told me that a while ago. 

I avoid looking at the audience and concentrate on my role. It turns out to be difficult since I can't stop thinking about him watching me. When my scene is finally over, I hurry backstage to sit down; burying my face in my hands. Lena sits next to me and silently offers me an obscure flask. I bring it to my lips without asking what it is. Pure vodka runs down my throat, making me flinch. “Thanks.” 

“What happened?”, she asks, worried. 

“He's here”, I say. “You... you know who.” 

“Oh, shit, should I have warned you?” 

“You knew that?” I laugh out loud, almost hysterically. “Yes, maybe you should have told me.” 

“Come on, just relax a little before you need to go back and it'll all be good”, she says, patting my back. “I'm sure nobody even noticed. You still did well.” 

I know I didn't and I'm sure everybody noticed when I suddenly forgot my text, but I nod silently. 

“Want to know a fun fact?”, she asks me. 

“I don't know if this is the time for...” 

“Oh, come on. I'm terrible at comforting people, I need to use alcohol, jokes and dumb knowledge to cheer them up. Let me try at least that.” 

I can't suppress a smile. “Well, in that case, go ahead.” 

“Did you know _The Lion King_ is based on _Hamlet_?” She looks at me expectantly. 

“No, what... really?” 

“Really!” 

“Wow. That's cool.” 

“Think about it instead of... you know. I have to go help the make-up team. You can keep the bottle.” She gives me another awkward pat on the back and gets up. 

After a while I start feeling the alcohol, the small amount not enough to make me feel drunk, but it does help me relax. By the time I have to re-enter the stage, my heart is beating considerably calmer and I'm not shaking anymore. 

I feel better with every scene I play. At a certain point, I find myself wishing I could just stay on stage all the time because it isn't easy to constantly switch between acting like Laertes and acting like myself, but I suppose that is a good sign. It shows I'm finally in character, at least a little. 

In spite of everything I am almost disappointed when we all die on stage, Hamlet says his famous “The rest is silence” and after some more talking the curtain falls. For a precious second, the rest _is_ silence, but then the applause starts, and the curtain rises again, and we bow, showing our gratitude towards the audience. Ophelia and I walk to the front together, holding hands and bowing. Blood rushes to my head, a mixture of the lights' heat, embarrassment and simple pleasure of hearing them clap for me. For a moment I am tempted to look in Phil's direction, but I don't. I don't want to ruin the memory of this moment by attaching him to it. 

Lena comes on stage too, along with tech and lighting, make-up and costume people, and we cheer and clap for her louder than the audience does. While we leave the stage, she takes my hand. 

“You were great”, she whispers. “Just like I said you would be.” 

“Thanks to you, mostly.” I hug her tightly once we're off stage. 

“Ew, that costume feels weird”, she says, but she doesn't push me away. 

I only let her go when some of the other actors approach me. “You did really well, especially considering it was your first time!” Someone says, “You're truly a part of the group now.” and I start smiling because it's an amazing feeling, being part of something, and a feeling I have never really had before. 

“Dan! You were so good!” Adam is coming towards me, beaming. “You need to promise me this wasn't your last show with us. I'm so glad Phil recommended us to you. He's here to you, I need to go get him so you can -” 

“No, no, it's fine, don't”, I rush out. “I mean, I'll have time to talk to him later, right?” I laugh awkwardly. 

“Yes, I suppose you're right”, he says, looking a little confused. “He's going to wait for us, anyway. We're taking him home in our car.” Great. So I won't be able to avoid him. 

I finally get rid of my costume that has started feeling uncomfortable. We remove the scenery together, chatting, still buzzing with adrenaline. Lena is passing around her mysterious flask but I politely decline because I still have to drive about thirty minutes back home. 

Then we're finished and the first people are starting to say goodbye, and I decide I'll leave too. Maybe I actually will manage to end this evening without having to talk to Phil. 

“Dan, wait!”, Adam calls out. “Are you leaving already? Because we were just talking about the way home and Ryan asked if we could drive them too, so there's one too many in our car now. And since you have almost the same way, would you mind taking someone with you?” 

“No, sure, I can do that”, I reply. “No problem.” 

“Great! Since you and Phil already know each other...” 

I freeze. No. No, no, no. Of course. Of fucking course something like this had to happen. 

“... it would be nice if you drove him! He's somewhere over there. Phil? Hey?” 

I see him talking to some people I don't know, and he turns around and looks at us, at me, and Adam continues, “Would it be okay with you if Dan drove you home instead of us? We're out of space in the car.” 

Say no, say no, I plead silently. Make up some excuse, anything. He doesn't seem to notice my despair and says, “Yeah, sure.” 

###

“You were good”, Phil says once we're sitting in the car. He sin't smiling, but it sounds sincere. 

“Thanks.” I wonder if I should tell him about my decision to apply for theatre school, but I decide not to mention it. Why would he care, anyway? We haven't talked since the phone call, when I told him about Louise and he told me about his past. 

We fall silent, an icy, awkward silence. I turn on the car radio and this one time I don't turn it off after a few seconds, because no matter how bad the music is, it covers up our speechlessness. 

Since it's already dark outside, I could see his reflection in the window if I looked to the side. For a moment, I am tempted because it's been a while since I've had the chance to examine his beautiful features this closely, but it would also be accompanied by pain and loss, and it would distract me from driving. 

After another five to ten minutes, he breaks the silence by saying, “So, what I wanted to ask you, did anything happen, concerning Louise?” 

“Oh, right. Apparently she won't report it. I guess she was just angry in that moment but has calmed down since.” 

“It would have been nice if you told me that. I've been pretty worried, you know.” Although his voice is calm, the implicit reproach makes me shiver. 

“I'm sorry”, I mumble. 

“It's okay, nevermind”, he mutters. He pauses, as if to gather up the courage for his next words, and says, “Dan, I...” He stops again and says, “No, forget it.” 

“What?” I frown. 

“Nothing.” It sounds definite. 

I don't answer because I don't know what to say. None of us speaks a word until I stop at his house, a place that is still excrutiatingly familiar to me. He says “Thank you”, I say “No problem”, and then he's gone again. I don't bother watching him enter the house and leave immediately. 

It's strange. Even though he was sitting right next to me, I don't think the distance between us has ever felt as far.


	13. To Be Or Not To Be Accepted

### 13: To Be Or Not To Be Accepted

“Good luck! I know you can do this. I mean, I prepared you well”, Lena says. I laugh shakily. Indeed she has, we have been meeting three times every week for the last two months and she gave me exercises to keep me busy twenty five hours a day. Needless to say, I have neglected my schoolwork even more than before. 

I'm excited, but not nearly as nervous as I was on the day of my first public performance two months ago, which is probably weird because how well I do today will decide about my future. I wait outside a heavy wooden door with flowery patterns carved into it. I know that at half past five p.m., I have to enter. After five minutes of waiting, it opens and a pale, shaking girl of about eighteen years steps outside. She gives me a small smile and whispers, “Good luck!” 

I am so surprised that I just nod. Since when have people been nice to random strangers? 

I enter the room. It is large, the walls entirely made of wood in different shades. Without the windows that flood the room with light, it would have made a gloomy impression. At the front there is a stage. A row of jurors is sitting at a long table facing it. I smile at them, trying and probably failing to hide my nervousness. 

“Daniel Howell?”, a woman says. 

I nod. “Yes, that's me.” 

“Welcome.” She sounds friendly, relieving some of my tension. “Thank you for your interest in our school. You have been informed about the procedure, right?” I nod again, but she recounts it anyway. “We would like you to start with the part you chose yourself. After ten minutes, we will hand you the script for the part you didn't prepare. You have five minutes to read it, and the acting itself will take about five minutes as well. The last ten minutes are reserved for a few questions we want to ask you.” 

“Right. Thank you”, I say, unsure what exactly I'm thanking her for. I walk up the steps to the stage. It is a strange feeling, standing up there all alone. There is no spotlight, but the eyes of the jurors concentrating on me feel like one. 

I clear my throat and begin. Since there is no one to interact with, which makes dialogues difficult, Lena and I have put together a number of monologues from _Hamlet_ so I have enough program to fill the ten minutes without having to learn something entirely new. 

The words, familiar by now, spill from my lips with ease, and I manage to forget where I am right now and how important this moment. I focus on the characters I'm portraying. In those ten minutes, I go through a wide range of emotions, from mourning to infatuation to madness. The time passes quicker than I thought it would. 

After my last word, I look directly at the jury again. Their faces don't show anything I could read, nothing to tell me what kind of impression I made. The same woman who has been speaking before stands up again. 

“Thank you.” She is smiling, but it could just be a polite smile. She motions me to come off the stage again. The way to the table feels more awkward than the entire ten minutes on stage. 

One of them hands me a small stack of paper, maybe four or five pages. “You can sit down while reading, if you want to.” He points towards a chair standing nearby. I sit down. 

Before I start reading, I try to hear them talking, but no one says a word. The only sound is the rustling of paper and the scratching of pencils on it. 

The scene I have been given is a dialogue, judging from the language more modern than Shakespeare. It's not especially difficult, similar to the exercices Lena has made me do. For a seccond I wonder if I will have to act out the entire thing on my own, but only one person's parts are circled. This is my role, I conclude. But who will the second character be? Will I have to talk to the air or something like a chair, pretending it's a person? 

This question is answered as soon as the five minutes are over and I have to enter the stage again. One of the jurors stands up, a woman that hasn't talked before. She is fifty or sixty years old, her face looks stern and she walks uptight like a ballet teacher. My pulse suddenly picks up. I wasn't expecting this. 

Despite my sudden anxiety, I greet her with a smile which she returns, even though it doesn't reach her eyes. Why couldn't they just make another student come on stage with me? That would have scared me less than her. 

It's okay, I tell myself. Just pretend she is one of the people from your theatre group. Some of them are the same age, and they are probably the least scary people I know. 

She opens the dialogue, and I answer. It's not as easy as the first part because I don't know the words by heart and have to keep looking at my paper, but I feel like it goes reasonably well. Still, I am relieved when it's over. 

I pull the chair to face the table for the interview. All the questions they ask are questions I have prepared an answer to, like “Why do you want to choose this path for your future?” and “Why _our_ school?” 

When I have to leave the room, I am much calmer than I was before, though my legs feel slighty shaky from the rush of adrenaline. I follow my predecessor's example and wish the boy waiting outside good luck, even though he looks more confident than I felt when I was standing there. He just raises an eyebrow, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and arrogance. 

“Asshole”, I mutter as soon as the door has closed behind him. But he can't spoil my good mood. A big grin spreads on my face. I did it, I made it through, and I did the best I could. If I am accepted or not is now the juror's choice, I have done everything I can. 

I find Lena waiting in the foyer, but there are two people sitting next to her who weren't there before, PJ and - 

“Hi, Phil”, I say tonelessly. My smile falters and my throat suddenly feels dry. Over the last months I got used to the sharp pain in my chest I feel whenever I see him, but getting used to it doesn't mean it is less unpleasant. What is he doing here? 

“Hello”, he replies, showing no emotion at all. I wish I could read his mind. “I wanted to be here today, see if you're successful, because, you know. I'm the one who persuaded you to start this all, right?” He manages to smile. 

“Right”, I say flatly. 

The other two are staring at us awkwardly. They both know about our past, I realise, and witnessed me after the breakup that wasn't even a real breakup. 

“Me too”, PJ chimes in, fake cheerful. “I wanted to witness this important day. How did it go?” 

“It was... pretty good, I'd say.” I sit down on the chair next to him, so two people are separating me and Phil. Good. 

“Since you're one of the last candidates for today, you wont have to wait for too long”, Lena declares. She has been studying a piece of paper hanging behind us and now turns around. “At six p.m. the last audition will be over, then they'll decide on the ones that make it and announce them starting at half past six, which means you and the others go back into the room in the same order as before and they'll just tell you if you're accepted or not.” She leans back and closes her eyes. “That means we'll have to wait for about an hour now, so please give us a more detailed account of how it was or I'll fall asleep.” 

I start telling them what exactly happened in there, until I have recounted every word anyone said that I remember and I don't know what to say any more. 

“Well, sounds nice”, Lena says, sounding sleepy. “You know what, I think I'll actually sleep now. No offense, but I was with my girl last night, we didn't get a lot of sleep and I haven't even had a coffee today.” Her eyes fall shut and she starts breathing evenly. 

I stare at her. “Wow”, I comment. “I wish I could fall asleep like that.” 

“I know, right? Those people who need like two seconds to be fast asleep, that's scary”, PJ remarks. “It's a superpower, they're undercover superheroes.” 

I laugh and say, “No matter how tired I am, I always need at least fifteen minutes to calm my brain enough to sleep. Whenever I'm sleeping with someone...” Phil coughs. “...in the same room I mean”, I clarify. Was that really necessary? “I'm always the last one that's awake.” 

The silence is awkward. I get my phone out of my pocket and turn off the flight mode. A couple of new messages, asking me how my audition was. I sigh and decide to reply later because I'm not in the mood right now. I open tumblr and scroll through my dash until it gets boring. I keep checking the time. Six. The arrogant guy from before must have finished by now. I wonder if he did well and consider wishing he didn't, but then I realise thoese negative feelings won't do me any good. I hope it went well for everyone here today, including him. 

Lena opens her eyes at exactly 6.30 and says, “Let's go wait in front of the room, you don't want to miss your call, do you?” 

“How did you do that?”, I ask her in mild surprise. “Wake up at the exact right time?” 

“Inner alarm clock”, she grins and stretches her arms, yawning. “Come on.” She leaps up and grabs my hand. The other two follow us. 

We join a small number of people waiting outside the same room, just like I waited there two hours ago. One after the other, they enter when they hear their name being called out and exit again, a few looking sad, but most of them smiling. I guess that means they accept most applicants. 

I recognise the girl who is entering right now, she is the one who wished me good luck. So I'm next. I tense up. She leaves again about a minute later, beaming. So she was lucky. I'm happy for her, especially because she was so nervous when I first saw her. 

“Daniel Howell”, a voice says, and I walk into the room with a strong feeling of déjà vu. 

“Hello again.” It's the same woman who also talked most of the time during my examination. She must be the chef or something, even though she is seems to be the youngest. She smiles at me. “I don't want to make it more exciting than it is. You're accepted. It would have been better if you hadn't just presented parts of one single play, but we thought it was still diverse enough to show your talent. Congrats and welcome to our ranks. If you would please sign this...?” She points towards a piece of paper lying on the table and offers me a pen. 

My heart misses a beat, drops and starts beating impossibly fast again. I stunble towards the table, read the words on the paper – just a short formal note telling me if I sign, I agree to the terms and conditions of being a student – and write my name on the line beneath them with my trembling left hand. 

“Great, thanks”, she says and hands me a different piece of paper. “Everything you need to know is on this. We look forward to seeing you again.” 

“Me too. Goodbye”, I answer automatically. My brain is only starting to process what this means. I walk out of the room again and am greeted by my friends, they ask me excited questions and congratulate me and I say yes, yes, I'm now a theatre student, can you believe that, and it all kind of blurs together until the realisation finally hits me and I begin to smile genuinely. I won't have to study law any more, I won't have a boring life as a boring lawyer. I will actually, really get to follow the dream I had in high school. 

“I'll sign out of my old university tomorrow”, I tell them. 

PJ says he'll miss me and that it will be even more boring without me, but I know he is just joking – he actually likes it there. Lena cheers, and Phil doesn't say anything but I can feel his eyes on me. I try not to think of what this means for us: he won't be my teacher anymore. I dismiss the thought because there is no _us_. I really need to stop thinking about him like that. Get over it, Dan. 

When I later announce I will go home now the foyer is already mostly deserted except for us. “I'm tired”, I say, “and maybe we can celebrate it some other time, alright?” 

“Are you walking?”, Phil asks. “Because then I'd come with you. I have the same way.” 

I happen to know that he the way to his house is in a completely different direction. My heartbeat speeds up and I nod. “Why not.” 

“I'll walk with you too”, PJ says and immediately cringes because Lena elbows him in the rips not very subtly. “Uh, no, I mean, I just realised I'm here with my car, sorry.” 

“That's good”, Phil says, “because I actually wanted to talk to Dan. Alone.”


	14. Tables Turned

### 14: Tables Turned

We walk along the street in silence. It is semi-dark, the sky still a beautiful colour of pink and purple at the horizon. Only every few minutes a car passes us. After a while I ask, “So what did you want to talk to me about?” 

He stops next to a street light and turns towards me, eyes fixed on a point a few inches next to my face. “I've been wanting to talk to you for a while.” 

“Yeah? Well, why didn't you? It's not like I was too busy”, I say sarcastically. 

“I... don't know. I thought about it a lot, about calling you, but somehow... I never did. I guess I didn't have the courage. At that theatre group performance I was planning to, when we were in the car together, but.. I just couldn't do it. I don't know.” He pauses. “Remember when... we fought? Because you told me... you know. And I said I didn't feel the same way.” 

“I remember.” I don't know how I would be able to forget that day. 

“Well, and when we didn't see each other over at all the last few months I started missing you. Not the sex, but _you_. And I kind of realised – oh shit, this is hard.” He pauses again, and I just look at him until he continues, “I realised that I _want_ you. I want to spend time with you, just... watch TV together, or talk for hours, because that's another thing. I don't think I ever met someone I enjoyed talking with so much. I want your stupid jokes and you swearing while playing video games, and the bad things too, your sadness and self-doubt and existential crisis. Everything. You.” He breaks off and avoids looking at me. 

“So you're telling me...”, I say slowly, “that you're in love with me? That you want to date me? Or what?” 

“I... if you want to put it that way... I guess that's what I'm trying to say. And if you still...” His voice trails off and now he is finally looking at me, anxiously and expectantly. 

“And it took you three fucking months to realise that and let me know? Do you even know how I was feeling during that time?” 

“I know, I'm sorry”, he murmurs. “I've been a real asshole to you. You didn't deserve that, and you have every reason to hate me. I also know that nothing can justify that, but maybe... maybe you understand that I was just afraid of falling in love with someone again because of what happened the last time. It wasn't... very nice, as you know, and I thought I'd never even be able to open up like that to anyone again, but...” He inhales shakily. “For you I will try. It may sound weird I've never met anyone I feel such a connection to. You're... special to me.” 

After all that he has done to me, I should be angry. I don't want to feel sorry for him and forgive him that easily, but I can't suppress the warmth stirring in my heart. If he was just anyone else, I probably would tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, but the point is that he isn't _anyone_. He is Phil, and this is what I haven't been daring to hope for over the past months. He has hurt me, but a part of me is still so in love with him that the mistakes he made don't even matter. 

I step closer, close enough for our noses to almost touch and to feel his slightly irregular breath on my cheek. He is so nervous. It's like we have switched roles. 

“So what do you think?” He whispers, eyes locking with mine. “Can you forgive me? I would understand it if you didn't, but I promise I won't hurt you again.” 

I smirk. “I'm not sure yet.” 

I bring my face even closer to his until our lips are just an inch apart. I stay there, not moving, until he breathes out, “Oh, just kiss me already.” 

“You had me waiting for three months”, I whisper. “It's my turn to make you wait.” 

When the temptation is getting more and more irresistible, I finally give in and lean forward ever so slightly. Our lips touch softly. Finally again. The taste and movements are familiar to me, but it feels different now. It feels like coming home after months of homesickness and knowing you will never have to leave again. 

I put one hand on his back to pull him closer, my other hand finds his and our fingers interlace. Happiness and warmth spread in my entire body as we're kissing like lovesick teenagers in the amber light of the street lamp. 

“My heart”, I say when we break apart. He asks, “What?” and I say, “It's beating really fucking fast”, and he laughs. “Mine too.” “You've never seen my apartment, have you?” 

He shakes his head. 

“About time”, I decide. “It's just a few streets away.” 

I never let go of his hand as we walk. It feels good, and I realise we have never really held hands like that before. When we went outside together, we had to act like we barely knew each other in case someone would see us. It doesn't matter now. 

I can't stop smiling, and without looking at him, I know he can't either. 

After a few minutes of walking, we arrive at the house I live in. I fumble the keys out of my pocket and tell him, “My flat is really tiny and probably messy. Don't judge me.” Since I didn't expect anyone important to see it, I didn't bother tidying up. 

“That's the last thing I care about”, he says. “I'm not better.” 

He follows me inside and I quickly show every room – not that there's much to see – by pointing vaguely into the direcion. “Kitchen. Tiny living room. Bathroom, if you need to. And that's where the magic happens.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. 

“Dork.” He laughs and presses me against the bedroom door to kiss me again. I open the door and we stumble inside to fall down on my bed, me underneath him. His hands are already moving beneath my shirt when I say, “Wait. Wait a second.” 

He stops. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, everything's great, don't worry. I was just wondering -” I inhale deeply, trying to focus. “Can I top? Just.. just this time.” 

“I thought you preferred being bottom.” 

“I do, but... I've thought about this, with you, and... I'd like to try it, if that's okay.” 

He hesitates. “I haven't done that in years. Ever since I broke up with... you know.” 

“That makes it even more interesting”, I mumble, and he still looks unsure but nods. “Okay.” 

We start making out again, removing each other's clothes piece by piece, me now on top of him. Our movements are slow and explorative like we have never touched each other before. Hearing him whisper my name from time to time is an intoxicating feeling. Yes, it's me, and it's him, and we're not thinking of anyone or anything but each other. We're the only thing that exists in our little world. 

I break the kiss and move down his body, leaving small kisses on my way down until I settle on the insides of his thighs, aiming to leave bruises on the pale skin. Want to leave my marks behind, to show he is mine, finally. 

He groans and grasps at my hair with one hand as I bite and suck at the skin, leaving a trail of hickeys. He is really fucking hard – so am I – but I ignore it for now. Later. We have all the time in the world. I want this to last as long as possible. 

“Daniel”, he says after a while, warningly, urgently. Him saying my full name should not turn me on like it does. I decide that it's time to end the prelude and reach for my bedside drawer for lube. 

“What have you got in there?”, he asks curiously, and I smirk. 

“Maybe I'll show you someday.” Not today. We have many days ahead of us. 

He cautiously spreads his legs, almost bashfully. I reach between them with fingers covered in lube and push one inside as gently as I can. He gasps, eyes fluttering shut. I slowly stretch him open, adding a second and then a third finger. All the time, I never stop looking at his face. It's beautiful, brows knit together and eyes closed in an expression that resembles pain but is actually pleasure, intense pleasure. Every now and then he opens his eyes to stare at me with those blown pupils. I crook my fingers, and his entire body jerks beneath me. “Fuck”, he hisses. 

“You ready now?”, I ask, because my dick is getting impatient and demanding attention. 

He nods. “Do you want me to get on my hands and -” 

“No”, I cut him off. I want to watch his face, see him lose control, let me in. 

He spreads his legs further and pulls his knees to his chest to make it easier for me. It feels amazing to see him vulnerable like this, like he is completely opening up to me for the first time, not only physically but emotionally, too. I lean down to kiss him again, more heated and desperate now. Then I start pushing into him, forcing myself to go slow even though my body is begging me to do the opposite. 

He moans and clutches my back when I am in all the way, and fuck, he is so tight and hot around me. I need to stop for a moment because if I start moving now, I will come instantly. “God, you're like a fucking virgin”, I tell him breathlessly. 

“I can be if you want me to”, he says, equally out of breath, and I know what he means. We can be new to each other, no one before mattered because we are the only thing that has ever been important and there will be no one, not ever, that makes me feel like he does. I begin moving my hips, thrusting in and pulling back again, trying to find that angle that makes him - 

He cries out, back arching into my touch. “Fuck, oh, fucking hell”, he groans. Yes, there it is. 

I keep up the angle, aiming for that spot again and again, until he is falling apart beneth me, clinging to my back and biting at my neck. This time, I won't have to worry about hiding them because we're not a secret any more. After tomorrow, I won't be his student, he won't be my teacher and we will be free, free to even go out together without worries. 

I reach down to stroke him. He moans into my mouth, saying my name again, and I say, “God, I'm so in love with you, fuck”, because I never really knew what that feels like until I met him. 

His nails dig into my back, leaving bloody scratches as it gets more heated, rushed and even more intense than before. I will have traces of him all over my body tomorrow, and I love it. His breath becomes erratic in a way that is still familiar to me. “I'm going to – oh god, oh god”, he chokes out, and I just nod with my eyes closed because I can't hold back much longer either, the tension in my body built up to the point where I'm about to break. 

I force my eyes open to look at him as he loses it. He is breathing out, “I love you, I – oh fuck” until the words turn into a moan deep from his chest. The muscles clenching around my cock are enough to send me over the edge too. I come inside him, grasping at the bedsheets and his wrists, desperately needing anything to hold on to as the pleasure washes over me, and he and I die our little death together, eyes never leaving the others. 

I collapse on the bed next to him. My trembling body is still coming down from the intense sensation when he kisses me again. It tastes like sweat and like him. 

“That was nice”, I mumble against his lips. 

He giggles and says, “Indeed.” 

I remember that I'm still wearing the condom. I peel it off and drop it next to the bed – something I will probably regret tomorrow, but I couldn't care less right now. 

“Stay”, I plead tiredly. 

“I wasn't going to leave”, he replies. “You don't get rid of me that easily.” 

I smile, and god, I wish I wasn't this tired and could enjoy this pure time with him for longer. I can feel his warmth against my skin and the slow, even breaths. 

After a while he quietly says, “Sorry about what I just said. I know it's something big and important and not words to throw away like that, but in that moment, it felt completely honest.” 

It takes me a second to realise he means the “I love you”. “No problem”, I murmur. “Even if it was too early to say it now, we'll make it come true, trust me.” His lips meet mine, just a short peck, and he falls back into the pillow, breathing calmly and slowly. We're both already half-asleep. I wish every night was like this. 

Just as I'm about to slip away into a dream, I hear him whisper, “God, I missed you.”


	15. Epilogue

### Epilogue

I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was thirteen. Back then, I decided I'd rather stay home alone and play video games than have forced fun with my only three friends. Since I never had many friends, the non-celebration became an annual habit, despite my parents' protests and attempts to make me socialise.  
This year, however, my objections against a party were immediately shouted down by at least four different voices. “You can't not celebrate! You only turn 23 once in your life”, Lena said, scandalised. The others nodded in agreement. “We can just do something chill”, Tyler added. “Order a pizza together or something. But there's no way you'll be alone on your birthday.” I wanted to say I hadn't planned on being alone, but spending my day with Phil. With a sigh I gave in.  
Maybe it wasn't the worst decision, I think as I look at all of them sitting at the table, talking and laughing and eating cake. Because my flat is too small we are in Adam and Lena's house, the same house in which the theatre practice usually takes place. When we asked if we could borrow the kitchen for an afternoon, Adam's only words were, “If you don't post the invitation on Facebook and wreck my house with thousands of uninvited people, no problem.” I laughed and said I hadn't used Facebook to communicate with anyone in years.  
Never, not at any point in my life before have I had so many friends that they wouldn't fit in my apartment. And they're not just some people I vaguely like enough to use the expression “a friend of mine”, but real friends. I genuinely like and enjoy the company of every single person that's here today.  
Well, maybe with one exception. But that's just because I don't know him yet. Troye asked me if he could bring someone along because he wanted us to meet him. He didn't clarify what they were, but from the shy smiles and light touches he and the boy who introduced himself as Connor are exchanging, I conclude that they are just at the beginning of dating.  
PJ is meeting my new friends for the first time, but he is already deep in conversation with them. I mean, who wouldn't like him? Right now, he is talking about space aliens and everyone sitting at the table is listening to him with expressions that range from an awed “Wow, this guy has an amazing fantasy” to a sceptical “What drugs are you on?” I constantly get both of those feelings when he tells me about what's going on inside his head.  
Phil lightly touches my hand beneath the table. I look at him to see him smile. “What?”, I ask.  
“Nothing, I'm just really glad you were born twenty-three years ago”, he says.  
“You're disgustingly cheesy”, I reply, lean a little closer to kiss him and intertwine our fingers.  
Louise is watching us from the opposite side of the table, looking like she is about to say something. I give her a questioning look, and she begins, “Uh, Dan.... and you too, Phil. It's very belated, but I wanted to apologise for what I did a few months ago, when I threatened you. I was never actually going to do it, of course, but it was a shitty thing to say, and I'm really sorry I scared you. I don't know what made me so angry, I guess I was just lonely and friendless and a little jealous of you two, but... I'd like to think that I have changed since. Seeing you together makes me happier than forcing you apart ever could, and I hope you'll stay happy together and... everything. I'm sorry.” She exhales like a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders.  
I stare at her, surprised and overwhelmed. I wasn't expecting an apology for something I had already almost forgotten and definitely forgiven. Over the last few months, we have become better friends than we ever were before, which could actually be strange considering what she did. “It's okay”, I say and give her a smile. “It's over, it doesn't matter anymore.” Phil nods in agreement.  
I glance at the clock and swear. “Fuck, it's already five.”  
“Are you going to leave your own party?”, Lena pouts. “Fine, we can have fun without you, can't we, guys?”  
I grin apologetically. “I'm sorry, I'm enjoying this very much and I love you all, but Phil and I have somewhere to be. Come on.” I pull at his hand, and he reluctantly gets up.  
“You won't get the rest of the cake!”, Tyler shouts after us, and I laugh. I doubt they will even leave a rest because Hannah is damn good at baking tasty chocolate cake.  
When we're sitting in my car parked outside the house, Phil asks, “What if they don't like me?” He sounds nervous.  
“Don't worry, they will”, I say confidently. “How couldn't they? You're great.”  
My parents took it surprisingly well when I called them two weeks ago to inform them that I have quitted law school and am now spending the university money they are sending me on attending a theatre academy, which has already accepted me. My mother said, “If that's what makes you happy, do it. We don't want an unhappy son, do we?” My dad probably nodded, but I couldn't hear that through the phone. He has never been a man of many words.  
When I said that in addition to that shame, I am also very gay and have an amazing boyfriend, she reacted by telling me that I needed to bring him home so they could meet him. We decided to set that up for my birthday since they wanted to see me on that day anyway.  
I ended the phone call with the warm, fuzzy feeling that all my previous worries had been unnecessary. I know now that I can tell them the truth about me and they will still accept and support me.  
Phil still looks hesitant. “What if they ask how we met? We can't say...”  
Okay, maybe not the full truth.  
“We can edit some parts out”, I say, giving his hand a last squeeze before letting go of it to start the engine. “Let's just say we met in a bar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read until here, please feel hugged by me (unless you don't like hugs, of course). posting this story has truly been an emotional rollercoaster for me, and i want to thank everyone who has read until the end. special thanks to those who gave me positive feedback, i probably would've deleted it all if it weren't for you  
> again, if you want to read more of my terrible writing, [you can find my profile here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/disloyalorderoftrash) (#spon)


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